


Agape - the highest form of love

by artistsfuneral



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Gay Sex, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is a strong boi, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Parent Vesemir (The Witcher), Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Break Up, Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Sex, Slow Burn, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Song Lyrics, Sorry Not Sorry, character injury, there will be sooo many more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistsfuneral/pseuds/artistsfuneral
Summary: Jaskier travels alone to the coast. He rides to Roggeven on the gelding he has been gifted and follows the river Duppa to the ocean. The autumn sun warms his chilled blood while the sound of crying seagulls becomes more and more frequent. When he finally reaches the sea and his eyes fix on a small town by the shores, he feels like he can breathe again. He can't remember the last time he had thought about Redania as beautiful. Then the old witcher arrives at the end of spring...----------A lot of it concentrates on competend!Jaskier and his life after the mountain, he finally realizes that he and Geralt have been talking past each other on many occasions and that it is time to act like adults. Also the other witchers are kinda hot...Jaskier is strong, Vesemir is protective, Lambert is soft, Eskel is sad and Geralt is taught by Ciri to do better. Tags will be added over time.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 46
Kudos: 210
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win, The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Thanks to all the lovely people of Tumblr! the first part wouldn't be here without you, you are amazing!
> 
> 2\. I intentionally change Jaskier's name from time to time. It is not a mistake when I suddenly type 'Julian', it's a rhetorical device I love to use.
> 
> 3\. 'Chapters' that are marked with a * at the end of the title contain either sex or violence/injury. Stay save people and remember I write happy endings.

**agape**

[a-ga-pe] greek noun

the highest form of love; it embraces a universal, selfless,

unconditional love that transcends worldly ties and

serves regardless of circumstances

* * *

> **Jaskier travels alone to the coast.**

Jaskier travels alone to the coast. He walks down the Dragon Mountains with anger seething in his stomach. He spends some more time in Kovir, visits the capital Lan Exeter before he takes a ferry to Luton. He accompanies a lovely Baroness and her husband to Yspaden and the anger is long forgotten. He meets many old friends and acquaintances on his way, but no witcher crosses his path. He doesn't question it.

He still sings about them, about the Wolves of the Blue Mountains. The songs are well known and loved, they made him famous. It would be stupid not to sing them and quite frankly, Jaskier likes the attention they attract. The Baron and Baroness he stays with like them too and who was he to deny them of his talent?

It's an early morning, the sun is still rising over the rooftops of Yspaden and Jaskier is sitting in an alcove, windows open, when he hears the cry of a seagull. The bard stops his soft strumming and looks up at the sky and feels his heart ache. He lets out a even softer sigh as he watches the flock of seagulls fly away. “You will leave, won't you?”

His head turns around just to see the Baroness sit up in bed, white linen sheets falling down and revealing her naked glory. She's a beautiful woman, with untameable curls and a crooked nose. The golden light of the morning sun idyllically dances on her skin. “I think it is time,” he says and smiles. He stands up to collect his clothes that are strewn all over the floor of the master bedroom. Beside the Baroness, her husband stirs under the covers. “Take the horse, the gray one. Pegasus or something...” Jaskier nods his thanks and kisses them both goodbye. There is nothing chaste about it. “Write us, Jaskier. We will be waiting for your letters,” the Baroness makes him promise, before she falls back into bed with a dreamily sigh.

Jaskier travels alone to the coast. He rides to Roggeven on the gelding he has been gifted and follows the river Duppa to the ocean. The autumn sun warms his chilled blood while the sound of crying seagulls becomes more and more frequent. When he finally reaches the sea and his eyes fix on a small town by the shores, he feels like he can breathe again. He can't remember the last time he had thought about Redania as beautiful.

Fischerskutter is small and not often visited. More fishermen than shepherds and more shepherds than farmer. The people eye him warily at first, take notice of how he clutches a blanket around his shoulders because he has no warm cloak and that he carries a lute instead of a sword. With half of the coin he has left, he pays for a little cottage further out, although the alderman warns him about the sea-maidens that come to the dunes in summer (Merpeople, Jaskier knows better, but doesn't comment).

The abandoned cottage is... rustic. It needs a lot of love, but to Jaskier's absolute joy it once belonged to the local huntsman. The rest of his coin is used by the bard for materials and a beautifully crafted, long hunting bow.

He’s always been good with a bow; his family’s private hunter had taught him when he was just a boy. Now he uses that skill to survive.

He spends his days working on the cottage and wandering through the seaside tundra and it's overgrown, rocky cliffs. After four days he locates the wild boar territory and after two weeks he knows how to navigate safely between the cliffs to reach the hidden woods. There, between the natural hot spring and it's warm water beds, still grows a meadow, where a herd of greater stags and does winters.

The town’s people are glad for the extra meat and the thick furs he sells them. In return he gets food, drink and hospitality. Life is hard and easy at the same time. The days are exhausting and the cold weather is harsh on his health. He misses Oxenfurt and it's ever-warm halls, when he shivers in his woolen tunics and fur coats. Still, whenever he makes his way into town, he is greeted with a warm smile and even warmer food. He even gets to play his lute, when it's the alderman's nameday and they all meet in his house for a little feast with his family.

It is nothing like he had imagined his life. That’s why it is so perfect, he thinks.

Since he arrived in Fischerskutter he goes by Julian again. The flashy troubadour Jaskier has no place in the little town. When he was younger, he had changed his name often, but he had been Jaskier for such a long time that it felt foreign to be someone else again.

When a snowstorm surprises him on a hunt, he doesn't make it back to his cottage. Three days he stays with the baker and his pregnant wife, Magdalena. The first day he spends shivering next to the fire. On the second day he helps Magdalena to deliver her twin babies, while her husband panics next to them. She calls the little girl Alicja and her brother is named Julian. Julian cries a bit, when he's allowed to hold the boy.

From then on she declares him family. Everyone starts calling him Julek.

The name reminds him of his home back in Lettenhove; Of his old bedroom with the big windows, of his siblings that are Melitele-knows-where now and it reminds him of his mother. For the first time in years he can see her in his imagination. It's an old memory of a summer day spend in the woods. He must have been very young, because she smiles down at him and the sun catches her hair and gives it a golden halo. He can't remember the color of her eyes.

In those moments he wonders what he is doing in Fischerskutter. Why he hasn't gone back to Oxenfurt for the winter, or why he has left the warm alcove in Yspaden that morning. Then he hears the seagulls cry and smells the salty air and he can breathe again.

> **Julek meets the Merpeople in spring.**

Julek meets the merpeople in spring. Unlike the alderman had told him, they don't wait for summer to arrive. One day Julek comes back from a successful hunt and is greeted with spiteful hissing from the rocks in the ocean. He looks up in confusion and sees them. They are a small group, only three adults he believes and silently wonders why they are so far away from the Great Sea.

To their shock he greets them. He hasn't spoken their language in a long time (not since Geralt has taught him to), but his Elder is still fluent, so he manages. He watches as they jump from the rocks and hurry away. He will manage just fine, he muses to himself and goes to skin the deer he still carries on his shoulders.

Life goes on. He visits Magdalena and the twins often, spends hours hunting in the wilderness and even writes to the Baroness and the Baron. Now that it is warmer again, he takes Pegasus out of the alderman's stables and goes for long rides across the dunes. His apathetic gelding doesn't even look up when they encounter the merpeople on their rides.

Weeks go by, the hissing subdues and they start watching him instead. The adult triton seems the most suspicious. Julek doesn't blame him, the alderman had told him what the last huntsman had done to them.

Julek meets the merpeople in spring.

Every time they meet each other's eyes, Julek greets them and ever so slowly they seem to accept the fact that he can talk to them. Once he even gets a soft greeting back and he can't stop smiling for the rest of the day. The town's people call him a madman. The children start imitating his call and soon he watches as a young girl greets a young triton by the shores. He knows the difference between merpeople and sirens. Still, the fishermen's boats are disturbed when they are out on the sea and who can promise that things won't escalate between the two races? That night, he takes his lute and wades into the cold sea water.

His teeth are chattering, when he reaches the sandbank with the rocks. Still, he climbs onto them and settles down, feet crossed and lute in his lap. He tightens the fur around his back and starts plucking on the strings of his lute.

He calls out a soft greeting into the (not so) empty ocean and waits. Slowly one of the adults peeks up at him from under the surface. Glowing eyes watch him curiously and it reminds him of his time in the Brokilon, where he had spend days singing for the dryads. He smiles at the memory and the careless plucking of strings turn into a melody.

He sings for them.

> “Agape
> 
> Please don't dissipate
> 
> I know that I have got it all wrong
> 
> I'm reaching out
> 
> To touch your voice
> 
> But baby, I'm clutching at straws
> 
> Even though
> 
> Your words hurt the most”

His words flow over the surface and are caught by the waves, they are pulled under and resonate between rocky cliffs. They are soft, the words sung in common, so he tries to pronounce them audible. The melody is slow with steady rhythm. A head emerges from the water, then another and another. The three adults watch him closely, heads crooked, listening with content.

> “I still wanna hear them, every day
> 
> You say let it go
> 
> But I can't let it go
> 
> I won't leave, every word that you say”

One of them is quietly humming in sync with his voice. Another one is swaying with the melody. The last one is fixated on his skillful fingers, moving quickly over the strings and bridges of his instrument. The words are sad, talking about loss and the fear of it, but the melody is to bright. It is perfectly balanced. He breathes in and sings a bit louder for the chorus.

> “For I'm so scared of losing you
> 
> And I don't know what I can do about it
> 
> About it
> 
> So tell me how long, love, before you go
> 
> And leave me here on my own
> 
> I know that I don't wanna know
> 
> Who I am without you”

He lets the song end after playing through some more chords. It is not finished yet, but he chose the song specifically for the merpeople, knowing that too much or too less could end fatal. Luckily he has once again proven his talent.

One of the two mermaids claps her hands in delight. “Beautiful,” she trills and Julek thanks her. The triton seems a bit wary. Julek does not understand every word, but he grasps the meaning. Why are you here? Why can you talk to us? What do you want?

He takes a moment to think about his wording and slowly explains to them, that he wants to live in the cottage and that he hopes they can be friends. He also asks them not to trick the fishermen or the children (hoping he doesn't offend them with his worry) and in exchange, he will sing for them. Before the triton can even say anything the mermaid that had applauded him, interrupts the triton with a thrilled “More Music?” and Julek nods.

With words to fast for him to understand she talks/sings to the triton, while the second mermaid looks at them with... fond annoyance. It is already clear that the merman will give in and Julek is relieved.

From then on he walks down to the ocean with his lute once or twice a week and sings to them. With time even the younger ones are brave enough to break through the surface. It becomes part of his routine.

He goes on hunts with Pegasus, helps the shepherds and fishers whenever he can, sings to the merpeople in the evenings and scouts the lands. Life is hard and easy at the same time.

Then he notices the drowner nest on the riverbed. And starts to worry.

It is only one and not near the town or a frequently used road, but there is already a lot of the monsters. None of the town's people are strong fighters, so he warns them about it and rides out of town, a witcher contract in his saddlebags.

He hangs it up in the three surrounding towns and tries to ignore the uneasiness that forms in his stomach like a pitch-black hole.

> **The old Witcher arrives at the end of spring.**

The old witcher arrives at the end of spring.

Julek is at Magdalena's cottage, both of them watching the twins while they do the laundry. Her husband, the baker, comes to them right from the shop, telling Julek about the witcher that has arrived at the alderman's house, contract in hand.

Julek excuses himself and hurries away. He doesn't even believe that it is Geralt, since said witcher never traveled to this part of Redania before, still he pulls the hood of his cloak deep into his face as he spurts Pegasus on. The gray gelding his annoyed with him, but seems to sense his unease and complies.

Julek spends the next two days in the wilderness. He misses his meeting with the merpeople.

The old witcher arrives at the end of spring.

The many years are making themselves obvious by now, he's not that strong anymore and leaves the more dangerous contracts for the younger ones. Although, everything is dangerous, when you're fighting monsters.

He stays in Kaedwen and Redania for the most part and while he usually follows the river Buina, this year destiny brings him to Drakenborg in the Kestrel Mountains, where he follows the river Duppa to Roggeven.

Someone younger must have already come through, because when he arrives in the city there's only a few contracts left. One jumps into his eyes anyways. He can read the paper even from afar, it is written with the tidy handwriting of a scholar that is used to copy long texts out of books and make it readable. They are a good month worth of travel away from Oxenfurt, so it is not that uncommon, what intrigues the old witcher is that the contract has every information he needs to know.

The small town of Fischerskutter has found a drowner nest by one of the smaller river-forks, a day ride from the town itself. There will be pay and accommodations for the witcher, if needed. That alone is unusual, but what makes the witcher frown is the use of the word “drowner”. It even says “drowner nest”. The contract is clearly written by someone who has encountered witchers before and was left with a positive outcome.

Now, he is an old man, but that doesn't mean that he isn't curious. It is nearly too good to be true, he thinks as he mounts his horse and sets out for Fischerskutter.

The alderman greets the old witcher in the town center in front of his house. He seems suspicious, but is not unkind to the witcher. He can leave his horse at the stables if he wants to and if it should him take longer than a day, he can even sleep in the hayloft (they don't have an inn). To his surprise the alderman even asks for his name.

“Vesemir,” he says dryly.

“Vizimir? Like the king? A very good name, for a monster hunter. Speaks for power and righteousness, honor.” The alderman nods his head as he talks, the constant motion irritates the witcher. He doesn't show it.

“No. Vesemir, is my name.”

There is an awkward pause from the man and the head nodding stops. When Vesemir asks who has written the note he found, the alderman's face lights up again. “Oh, huntsman Julek did. He's the one who found the monsters.” A hunter with the handwriting of a scholar, that knows enough about witchers and monsters to set up a contract. The witcher grunts at the information. The other man doesn't seem to notice, far too delighted to gossip. “Weird guy, but a good man. Very good man indeed, helped our baker's wife to birth her brood.” A scholar, probably from Oxenfurt, that knows enough to help deliver a child. Medical knowledge.

The alderman doesn't stop talking. “Came here in autumn on a white horse and hasn't left since, we've grown quite fond of him. He's weird though... as weird as a witcher if I may say.”

Vesemir raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Is he now?” The alderman is slowly getting on his nerves, at least he gets the information he needs.

“Yes, yes! Weird man indeed. Especially when you think about how he helped us with the sea-maiden problem we had.”

A shadow washes over the witcher's face. “He helped. How so?” Until now, the hunter had seemed quite smart, but if he had been stupid enough to fight sirens... Then pray tell what else the man had done wrong.

The alderman barks out a laugh. “Oh, you will like that, witcher,” he leans in closer and holds up a hand as if to tell a secret, “He sings for them. Can you believe it? Bloody things haven't disturbed our fishermen since.”

In fact, he can't believe it. Not sirens, but merpeople. On the shores of the North Sea. And for some reason said hunter had not only known the difference between the two species, but also had enough respect not to attack them. Instead he had... bargained. A singing huntsman from Oxenfurt that had witcher knowledge.

Vesemir's curiosity gets the best of him. He quietly decides to stay until he has met said huntsman Julek.

> **Jaskier returns in the early hours of the morning.**

Julek returns in the early hours of the morning. Lazy Pegasus is more than glad to finally be in the stables again. It's one of the few thing that actually make the gelding happy. Julek softly whispers to his horse, giving praise and saying his thanks, as he brushes Pegasus down and cleans his hooves. He doesn't notice the brown horse in the back of the stable, right over the hayloft. He can't help himself but to hum the melody of the nursery song he has written about Roach. They had escorted a group of villagers through a dangerous part of a forest, when a little girl was nearly attacked by a monster and Roach had saved her by pushing the girl away. Later, when it was time for them to depart, she wouldn't stop crying until Jaskier had quickly put together a lullaby for the girl to remember.

After that he had sung it for every single one of the witcher's Roaches.

Vesemir, recognizes the song. He doesn't know the words and he doesn't need to know. Geralt only ever hummed the melody too, when he was taking care of the horses in winter. It could have been a coincidence. But destiny didn't like coincidences.

Singing Huntsman Julek, who had witcher knowledge, knew the same damn song that Geralt knew. Vesemir listens to the man leaving the stables. He waits a moment, then follows after.

Julek knows he's being followed even before he can hear the pebbles crunching under leather boots. He doesn't care. He has given up on trying to trick destiny a long time ago. He knows the witcher isn't Geralt. Geralt wouldn't have followed him at all.

He walks to his cottage on the dunes without looking back once. He stores away the meat of the wild boar he has caught last night and grabs his lute from where it sits on the porch. He wades into the cold sea water, hoping the merpeople can forgive him for dumping them so rudely. As he settles on his usual rocks, he can hear the witcher sitting down on the pebble stone beach. The familiar sound of two swords being placed on the ground. His heart aches.

He can't help it, but the song is sad. He had written it for the fallen men after the slaughter of Cintra. Until now, Jaskier had only sung it once. The first seagulls gather around the shore. Julek sighs loudly and starts singing.

> “I can hear the cannons calling
> 
> As though across a dream
> 
> And I can smell the smoke of hell
> 
> In every stitch and seam
> 
> And like flowers, the bodies tumble
> 
> Around this muddied lot
> 
> I cannot hear them scream
> 
> 'Forget me not.'”

A head pops up in the water. Sad eyes meet his own and he tries to smile but fails. The mermaid looks past him, obviously wondering about the witcher, before she decides that he means no harm and perches herself up on the rock next to Julek. Her voice is soft and some of her words are mispronounced, but she joins him. He can't find a reason as to why she may know the lyrics and with amazement he listens to her quiet voice.

> “And in years to come you'll wander
> 
> To the place on our hill
> 
> And then you'll cry to our painted sky
> 
> 'I loved him then, I love him still.'
> 
> And you'll strew some sage and lilies
> 
> And roses where I rot
> 
> Of all the flowers you picked,
> 
> I knew you would forget
> 
> Forget-me-nots.”

They wait out the moment in silence. Simply sitting next to each other, listening to the seagulls cry. A salty breeze comes up and Julek breathes in deeply, his chest visibly going up and down. His whole body shutters once, then he turns his head and smiles at the mermaid. “Thank you, my dear. You are truly wonderful.” He doesn't know if she can understand the common tongue, but the message came across anyways. They have known each other for months now.

“Sing more,” she trills in her language and Julek picks up his lute with delight, going for a faster melody. He plays three more songs for her, until the sun is to high in the sky and she has to return to the ocean. Julek wades back on land and only then he looks at the witcher that hasn't moved from his spot at all.

It hurts that he only needs a few seconds to realize who is in front of him. He flops down a few meters away from the old witcher, unceremoniously stretching out his arms and legs in the sunlight. No one in this part of the word cares about court manners anyway. He shuts his eyes close and listens to the waves crashing against rocks.

“I have to admit I am curious,” Vesemir speaks and his low voice rumbles in the silence, “what does a bard like you do in a place like this?” Julek opens his eyes and gets blinded by the sun.

“I don't know.”

“Hmm.”

That is the thing, isn't it? Julek doesn't know why he is in Fischerkutter. Sure, he had wanted to go to the coast again, but he could have gone to Novigrad, or he could have just spend a few weeks in the small town. Instead he had bought himself a cottage and had become the local huntsman.

“Geralt hasn't talked about you this winter. He usually complains a lot.”

Julek barks out a hysteric laugh. “We didn't exactly part on good terms this time. I must admit a lot of it was my fault. I can be quite self-absorbed; the eccentric bard, everyone thinks me to be. I only saw what I wanted to see and he was going through a lot. He always is, isn't he?” Vesemir hums deep in thought.

“There are a lot of things I can say about my sons. Not many are kind. I am prone to see their mistakes and call them out for it. It's what keeps the young ones alive. Sadly, they are as stupid as stone-” Julek interrupts the old witcher accidentally. This time his laughter his honest. He has to sit up to hold his stomach and immediately gets slapped in the back of his head. “Don't interrupt me, when I am trying to teach a lesson, bard!”

Julian grins at Vesemir. He can imagine the old man quite vividly surrounded by the many boys that trained under him. Glaring daggers at each little snicker and making them run around the keep (or whatever it is that little witcher boys have to do as punishment).

“Fine. See if you understand it better if I say it like this, bard. I only have three of my boys left and I know them very well. I myself was the one that had to carry each of them up the mountains, because they were too weak to do it themselves. All of my boys arrive in winter. Geralt never left that damned season behind. He's been living in winter for decades. And then he meets you and talks about you as if you were the fucking spring. That boy hasn't seen flowers in years and suddenly fucking buttercups grow around him.”

Vesemir got louder at the end, his voice filled with venom.

All Julian can think about is Geralt's voice saying “lilac and gooseberries” over and over again. How cruel, he thinks as he realizes that if he is spring, then Yennefer is the summer. And there it is again, that hot and seething anger in his stomach, that jealousy that he can't get rid of. “Buttercups don't grow by the sea,” he says without knowing why, “here, spring, summer and autumn look the same.”

A seagull cries in the distance and Julek takes a deep breath. “I don't care,” he says and his voice is steady again. “We are friends. That doesn't mean I have to shovel his shit. I am not responsible for bringing him spring. And I don't deprive him of it.” While speaking his last sentence he looks the old witcher dead in the eyes. Whatever weird kind of shovel talk Vesemir thought of, Julek is not having it.

Geralt and he are friends. They are two opposites that benefit of each others presence.

“Then why are you here?” Vesemir asks again and oh, he surely thinks himself so clever. Julek glares and the seagulls fly over their heads in the clouds.

“Because here, I can breathe.”

“Why does a bard need to breathe, when he can sing and scream?”

Julek stands up and leaves. Julian looks at the witcher with teary eyes. Jaskier screams as the witcher leaves Fischerskutter on his horse.

Jaskier returns in the early hours of the morning.

Julek is throwing freshly washed linen over a long rope to let them dry in the sun. Next to him Pegasus is nibbling on some dry grass that grows on the dunes. It is so warm outside, that Julek doesn't have to wear the thick fur around his shoulders anymore. Summer is not far away anymore.

When he's done he puts his hands on his hips and looks at his work. The white sheets are flapping in the wind. Soon, he will have to write the beautiful Baroness and her lovely husband again. He will have to visit Roggeven to send the letters though...

A seagull lands next to him on a rock, seemingly unbothered by his presence. He watches it as it picks on a closed shell. A frown washes over his face.

“What the fuck am I doing here?”

Jaskier leaves town the next morning, after saying his goodbye to his friends and new family (leaving little Alicja and Julian behind breaks his heart). He follows the coast line to Novigrad and then finally rides back to Oxenfurt. Jaskier is embraced by his friends with open arms.

> **Jaskier and Lambert meet during Belleteyn. ***

Jaskier and Lambert meet during Belleteyn. They fall into bed easily.

Belleteyn always is chaotic. Belleteyn in Oxenfurt is sheer mayhem. For a day and night there are no rules anymore. A few hours into the celebrations and everyone is at least slightly drunk and pretty horny. People are openly kissing on the streets, skin meets skin and clothes get lost. There are no rules, the the scholars run wild. Literature students with mathematics, professors with students, girls with girls and boys with boys. Two people, three or more. There are no rules.

Jaskier met Valdo Marx during Belleteyn, although he would never admit that out loud. Jaskier had won the music competition, they had ended up in the same bed for some reason and the next day he had found his name on the rating wall of Oxenfurt Academy. A huge, long brick wall where traditionally the artists were reviewed for their talent. After a scandal a few years back (when Julian himself was a student at the Academy) the wall was also used to rate and review your bedpartner's talents.

“J. Pankratz: Mediocre at best. - V. Marx” it had said and the damn bastard had never explained whether he meant Jaskier's singing or his cock. Every coming morning after Belleteyn, Valdo Marx had the audacity to smirk at Jaskier.

Jaskier and Lambert meet during Belleteyn. The air around him is hot and humid and there is a pretty girl hanging on his lips. A medic student, he thinks. But he's pleasantly tipsy and she is pretty much drunk and her hands are under his doublet and her fingers hot on his skin and he doesn't care. So he holds her a little closer, skin touching skin and she lets out a pretty little sigh against his lips.

They are interrupted by someone tapping on his shoulder. It's another girl, this time one of his own students. Her face is beautifully flushed and she giggles so sweetly that Jaskier can't seem to get annoyed with her, when she grasps her friend by the wrist and pulls her away to the plaza were everyone is dancing. Jaskier looks after them with a longing sigh, before he leans back against the pillar and closes his eyes. For once he doesn't care about his tousled hair and his doublet left open.

Someone is watching him. Has been for a long time. But it is Belleteyn and Jaskier can't find the will to be cautious. He simply turns his head in the direction where he can feel the stare coming from and looks.

On the other side of the street is a witcher. Like Jaskier he causally leans against a stone pillar of one of the buildings. His arms are crossed in front of his chest. He doesn't wear armor, he's here for the fest. Their eyes meet. The witcher grins. Jaskier's head falls to the side, baring his neck. An open invitation.

It's Belleteyn. Jaskier doesn't care if he is seen with another man, even if it's a witcher. He doesn't care that it will be just sex with a handsome stranger, because that's what he's here for. So he bares his neck, knowing that the man in front of him is probably aware who he is and who he travels with from time to time. And maybe that is exactly the reason why, he thinks, as he notices the silver wolf around the witchers' neck.

A hot mouth finds his pulse point and he gasps loudly. “Hello, pretty bardling,” the witcher growls into his ear and makes Jaskier outright shudder. It was pretty unfair that every witcher he had met, had the same graveling tone in his voice, that made Jaskier melt. The witcher smirks against his skin.

Jaskier knows what he looks like. He knows his pupils are blown wide and that his cheeks are flushed. He must reek of sweat and wine and lust. He doesn't care and the witcher falls for it.

They both fall for it, don't they?

He doesn't remember how long it took them to get to Jaskier's flat in the professors' building, he doesn't know when and where he lost his doublet and why the he is barefoot. But there is a hand on his hip and another around his waist and the witcher is pushing him against the wood of his closed door and suddenly there is a knee against his hardening cock and-

And the world around them fades out. It's only them now. Only the walls of his dark flat can see them. It's loud outside, there's shouting and dancing and singing, but for some reason it doesn't reach them. They slow down.

Jaskier is no stranger to this phenomenon. He has written songs about it, but they are always romanticized. Two lovers finally meeting and the world around them fades to black and only the two of them are what matters. The truth behind the feeling is much more simpler. A perfect mix between alcohol and lust and everything suddenly feels like it is special.

They kiss again, hot and wet and full of lust and want. Sharp teeth bite his lower lip and he opens them with a loud moan. Their tongues meet and he shudders again. His hands find the man's neck and he pulls him impossible close. The witcher clearly goes for dominance, battling Jaskier into an open mouthed kiss that leaves him breathless. His head knocks back against the door when they part and a hand grabs his chin. Jaskier keens. The witcher's thumb is pressing against his lips and when he parts them the thumb pries open his mouth and presses down on his tongue. Jaskier whimpers, a soft noise that erupts from deep inside of him. When was the last time he had been at someones mercy like this?

The witcher is battling for dominance and Jaskier gladly submits.

“That's right pretty bardling,” he says and makes Jaskier shudder from his voice again, “you're mine now.” Jaskier's eyes fall close as he lets the feeling flood him. Spit runs down his chin and is wiped away by the witcher's other thumb. The knee against his cock starts moving, slowly grinding against him. Teasingly, not enough. The witcher lets go of his chin and pulls him into an open mouthed kiss. Another battle of tongues that Jaskier loses gladly. “Look at you. I haven't even started yet and you're already about to come for me. Such a pretty little thing I found.”

And who wouldn't be helpless against those words? “Please,” he whines and the witcher smirks at him. With his free hand he cups the bard's clothed cock and feels it twitch under his fingers. “Please what, little bardling?”

“Plea- Please let me cum, please.” Jaskier begs. It's embarrassing how close he is already. Then again he had spend hours at the festival, surrounded by people grinding and touching and kissing. He whimpers again.

The witcher leans back, looks at Jaskier and what he has done to the bard already. “No.” Startled, blue eyes grow even bigger and the bard lets out another pitiful whine. Then the weight against his body is gone and his knees buckle under him. A hand finds the top of his head and presses him down. Oh. Oh, he can do that. He's good at that, Jaskier thinks and lets himself fall to the floor. He tips his head back and looks up at the witcher. If the man wants submissive, he can do that. He crosses his arms behind his back and presses his nose against the leather breeches.

“Fuck,” he groans in respond and Jaskier knows he has done the right thing. “Please, may I?” he tries again and this time he does his best to sound extra small. Another curse rings in his ears and the witcher quickly undoes the straps of his breeches.

Jaskier hums satisfied when he finally sees the man's cock. It's almost completely hard, red and leaking. His mouth waters at the length and girth and he already knows that he will do everything he has to, to feel it buried deep inside of him. But for now... “Thank you,” he breathes against the witcher's groin and nuzzles against it. Another curse and strong, scared fingers curl up in his hair and guide him to the front. Jaskier lets himself be manhandled.

He licks a long stripe along the underside of the witcher's cock and is rewarded with a deep growl. He repeats the motion and tries to look as innocent as possible while doing it with expertise. From what he can tell it works. He falls into an easy rhythm of short and long licks and light kisses. He lets his tongue slide along the tip and the hand in his hair pulls. Jaskier grins. Slowly he removes his hands from where he holds them behind his back and wraps his long fingers around the man's cock. Amazed he realizes that his thumb and ring finger barely meet. He moans around the wet tip and goosebumps spread over his body. Soon he finds his lips wrapped around the hot length for real and going further, further up, swallowing and choking around it just to hear another moan, another growl.

“Fuck, bardling. So pretty. Choking on my dick like you were born for it. Maybe I'm going to keep you, take you with me wherever I go just so you can be my own little bardling.” Jaskier moans around the cock. “Yes, you like that don't you? You like being mine, you like being owned.”

For tonight, he thinks. Tonight he will be the witcher's. And the world around him loses all meaning. Jaskier and Lambert fall into bed easily. It is Belleteyn, whatever happens tonight won't matter the moment they awake.

It is a game of dominance and they are both losing it.

> **He is woken by the morning sun.**

He is woken by the morning sun. Every bone in his body aches pleasantly and he takes a moment just to breathe in the cool morning air, before he slowly slips out of bed. The witcher is still there. Jaskier smiles, but knows better than to stare at him. Clearly, the other man is awake, probably was even before Jaskier. That he is still here only shows Jaskier that the man needed some love, a quiet moment of piece and warmth. And the bard was ready to give. He doesn't bother with clothes as he makes his way over to the vanity, where his wash basin is. Splashing cold water in his face washed away the last of his sleepiness and he begins cleaning the worst off of him. He could go to the bathhouse later that day.

He doesn't have to look in the mirror to know that his whole body is covered in bruises and scratches. Unlike him, the witcher in his bed is already rid of his. Only the deep red scratches Jaskier had left on his thighs are still visible. A shame really, Jaskier thinks as he slips a wide shirt over his head and searches for clean underwear.

He flips through one of his journals, just to make sure that he doesn't have an appointment with a student today (which he doesn't because it's the day after Belleteyn) and then takes his lute and settles on the bench under the window.

His voice is still raw after last night and he sounds a little off, but he sings anyway.

> “I can't find you
> 
> I wouldn't even know where to look
> 
> Said you'd meet me back here, someday
> 
> Things change”

There is a angry knocking coming from across the wall and one of the professors is shouting for silence. Another knocking shushes said professor and Jaskier smiles while singing, knowing full well that Lady Maringwell loves to wake up to his early morning singing.

> “No, it's not just the memory of you
> 
> but it's all that comes with you
> 
> As the images start to stutter and skip
> 
> Disintegrating into sparks that glitch
> 
> There's a deamon in the server
> 
> And histories we cannot erase
> 
> You're so close and so far away
> 
> You're so close now
> 
> You're pouring fuel on the fire and I can't get enough
> 
> Fuel on the fire and now I'm burning up
> 
> Fuel on the fire and I won't ever stop
> 
> Fuel on the fire, remembering how to love”

The witcher slowly sits up in bed and Jaskier stops playing, letting the last chord resonate in the air between them. “Well, that wasn't a tavern song.”

The bard snorts, “No. Some songs are not meant for a brawly audience. That doesn't mean that they should not be sung, though.” The man in his bed hums.

“Still, not really what you would expect from Geralt's bard.” Jaskier rolls his eyes at the comment, “Geralt hold no ownership over me, thank you very much.” He seems to react allergic to comments about Geralt and his' relationship these days. Not that surprising,, Jaskier muses to himself, still he will have to change his behavior to be less obvious.

The witcher takes a moment to look at Jaskier. It's not Belleteyn anymore and the witcher finally gets the chance to actually look at him. Jaskier does the same. He looks young, younger than Geralt and way younger than Vesemir. His eyes fall to the chained wolf around his neck and he sighs. “So, which one are you?” he asks and puts the lute away. “No, don't answer it,” he adds, “let me guess. You're obviously one of Vesemir's boys. Quite charming man, I tell you. And since I don't have horns, you're not Eskel.”

“Lambert,” Jaskier says, testing how the name rolls off his lips.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier hums. “It's a shame I can't keep you, my dearest,” he says and Lambert raises an eyebrow, “but sadly Oxenfurt needs me more than you.” There is a loud laughter coming from the other professor's room and Jaskier stands up and knocks his fist against the wall. “Halt den Mund, oder ich stopf ihn dir!” he screams, his voice hoarse and there is an audible crush on the other side of the wall. Dramatically Jaskier swoons back on the bed, “Language professors, I tell you.” Lambert nods as if he knows what the bard is talking about. It's endearing.

“So, what brings you to Oxenfurt of all places? Besides Belleteyn I mean.” There is a moment where Lambert tenses up, but then he seems to remember who Jaskier is and how many times Geralt had told them that the bard was save. “I'm waiting for someone. Should come to the city today, if everything went well.” Jaskier makes a sour face, “It's not Geralt is it?”

The witcher barks out a laugh. “No. Not Geralt. None of the wolves, to be honest.”

“But a witcher, then?”

Lambert hums agreeing. “A cat.”

Jaskier breaks out in a wide grin, “A wolf and a cat traveling together. Thats almost too good to be true. I wonder if I can make a nursery rhyme out of it...” He gets lost in his thoughts, wondering about what rhymes with 'cat', other than 'hat' and doesn't notice the way Lambert is staring at him.

He is fascinated by the bard. When he went out yesterday night he had expected a quick, meaningless fuck with some student that was stupid (or drunk) enough to talk to a witcher. Instead he had found Geralt's mysterious bard. He couldn't stop himself from looking. And the man had been willing, more than that even. The sex had been fantastic. And now, the bard is lying here on the bed next to Lambert as if it is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Then again, maybe it is.

Maybe Jaskier really doesn't see a difference between witchers and normal people. It's a scary thought. It is unsettling how relaxed the bard looks next to him. He's not wearing any armor, barely any clothes at all and Lambert has a wide view over the colored patches of skin and bite marks that are his own fault. He licks his lips. The bard is pretty, he realizes. And pretty is not a word he uses at all. It shouldn't fit to a man taller than Lambert, with broad shoulders, muscled arms and a hairy chest. But Lambert can't find a word better fitting.

The bard is confusing. One thing stands out to Lambert the most, though. He can't help himself but to ask. “You don't seem- I mean- Geralt always described you as this hyperactive, naive person, kind of childish, I would put it. But you are not, you don't seem like it.”

Jaskier snorts.

“That's because I was nothing more but a child, when we first met. Honestly I can't imagine how horrible I must have been! Gods, I was... fifteen when I left home? Four years at the academy plus the time until I reached Posada,” Jaskier laughs, the sound is bright and pools warmth into Lambert's stomach. “I must have been around nineteen, when I met Geralt. Poor man.”

Lambert smiles. Suddenly he can imagine a young Jaskier in a shaggy tavern somewhere in Posada, singing and laughing. It's an image he doesn't want to forget.

“Don't get me wrong,” the troubadour continues, “I still am a little shit, when I want to. It's exciting, traveling with a witcher, seeing real monsters and being the first one to tell people about it. I'm still obnoxious and very much self-centered, otherwise I wouldn't be where I am in life. But I've grown up plenty over the years. Geralt just doesn't see it.”

It makes sense, in a way. Witchers life out of time and sometimes they don't notice change.

> **Jaskier gives Lambert a letter before their departure.**

Jaskier gives Lambert a letter before their departure. It's a sealed envelope made from expensive parchment and Lambert raises his eyebrow in question.

“For Geralt,” the bard explains, “He will understand. I'm not traveling this year and Geralt never comes to Oxenfurt, without reason, so you will probably see him before I do.”

Before Lambert can say anything a small boy is running up to Jaskier and tugging at his shirt. “Ser, ser! The Profs Madam has asked for ya,” he declares in a heavy accent. Jaskier's eyebrows knit together. “Madame de Fair?” The boy nods and pulls again on Jaskier's clothes. “Ser, hurry, hurry!” Jaskier gives Lambert a shrug and lets himself be pulled back towards the academy.

Lambert and Aiden watch him leave from the backs of their horses.

“Why didn't you tell him, that Geralt is at Kaer Morhen with the child?” Lambert looks at Aiden for a long time, then he holds up the envelope. With the calligraphy of a scholar, one word is neatly written on the parchment. 'Agape', the highest form of love.

Green eyes blink once, twice, then they search for the bard and the boy in the mass of people. But the man is already gone. “Big words, for such a naive human,” Aiden says before he clicks his tongue to get his horse moving. Lambert's stallion follows without orders. “He's not.”

The cat witcher turns around in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Naive,” Lambert says, “that man knows exactly what he's doing.” Aiden laughs at him, “What? One night with him and you're already smitten? Took you years to fall for me.” The wolf snarls at Aiden, who gives him an ugly grin.

“To be fair, he sucks cock better than you.”

“No he doesn't!”

“Yes he does.”

“Fuck off Lambert! Tell me your lying!”

Lambert spurts on his horse and rides past Aiden.

“Lambert, you prick!”

> **Vesemir meets Julian again in a brothel**

Vesemir meets Julian again in a brothel. Although Jaskier had said he wouldn't travel for the rest of the year, he is in Foam. It's exam month for his students, so he has no classes to teach and took the time off.

He knows some of the girls in “The giddy Dragon” from his former travels and is always welcome to stay and sing for them. That's how Vesemir finds him.

Julian is sitting on a table in the middle of the amusement-room and is playing his lute to accompany a young woman that dances around the room in quick twirls while singing. She is wearing a thin red dress and her wrists and ankles are adorned with jingling bracelets. Julian is slightly swaying back and forth with every chord. His eyes are fixed on his quickly moving fingers while he joins her singing from time to time as a second voice.

> “And we fall into each other
> 
> The scratching grows so loud
> 
> Because that unwanted animal
> 
> Wants nothing more than to get out
> 
> And I scream
> 
> 'Oh, What's the time Mr Wolf?'
> 
> But you, you're blind, you bleat, you bear your claws”

Julian looks up for just a second and his cornflower blue eyes meet gold. He frowns, but doesn't stop playing. Vesemir bears him no mind as he makes his way across the room towards one of the girls. She's a tiny thing with red hair and freckles covering her skin. She smells of fear when he comes near her, but fear turns into pure relief when he nods at her.

“He won't bother you anymore, girl,” he says and she cries.

She hurries over to her belongings in a corner and brings back a pouch with coin. The singing in the background has stopped. Some are applauding. “Oh please stay, witcher,” the girl says, “we have good drink and the food should be ready soon. And I'm sure if you want company, one of the girls-”

The old witcher holds up a hand to stop her. “The food and drink I take gladly, but I'm far too old to find a liking in girls.” It's a lie. Vesemir is old, but definitely not old enough to not enjoy sex anymore. Still, he knows when he is not wanted. The redhead blushes and hurries away to get the witcher his promised drink. Vesemir sits down on one of the tables at the back of the room. It doesn't take long before someone sits on the other end of the table. “Bard.”

“Oh fantastic, the loveliest greeting I have ever heard. Tell me witcher, are your here to lecture me about the seasons again? Because frankly I am not in the mood.” It's rare that his voice sounds so spiteful. After their last encounter, Vesemir reminds Julian too much of his own father. It is not a kind comparison.

“No. I am here for a monster. But I admit that I have to apologize.”

The picture of his father faints. Jaskier blinks a few times in disbelieve. “Pardon? Did I jut hear an apology from a witcher? Is the sky on fire?”

Vesemir tries his hardest not to patronize the bard for his dramatics. He is a bard after all. Julian grins over the little victory like a child. The girl comes back at that moment with two large tankards. Jaskier smiles at her brightly while the old witcher takes a few strong gulps of the ale.

“Isn't it a bit late for you, to be in Gustfields? Shouldn't you be far more east this time of the year?” Vesemir silently wonders just how much Geralt has told that man about witchers. “I'm not traveling by horse,” he says. Should the bard do with that information what he wants.

“Since when can witchers make portals?”

“We can't.”

“Then how- Ah, yes. Sorcerers. Can't say I'm a fan.”

Vesemir doesn't answer. He has no business with the man.

After a pregnant pause Jaskier rolls his eyes at the man. “Oh come on. The first time we meet I get that heart-felt lecture of a shovel talk about how I bring flowers in your sons life and now you decide that we are strangers. I'm sorry but it usually works the other way round.”

Vesemir leans back in his seat and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What do you want, bard?” Jaskier groans loudly and lets his head bang against the wood of the table. “Fuckin' witchers,” he mumbles, but Vesemir can hear him clear as day.

Julian huffs and stands up from his seat. “Try to figure it out, you seem like the smart one.” With that he saunters off with his lute in hand. Again.

* * *

* * *

Songs:

[Agape - Bear's Den](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1MmYVcDyMs)  
[Elsa's Song - The Amazing Devil](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDN8yYWAZI4)  
[Fuel on the Fire - Bear's Den](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cq_W2PJZIz4)  
[That Unwanted Animal - The Amazing Devil](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzHtfnCDASA)


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: chapters with * have major injury, it's not gory-graphic but I am not nice to a certain witcher...  
> look for the notes at the end for a summary!

> **Autumns in Kaer Morhen are quiet.**

Autumns in Kaer Morhen are quiet. The keep was once filled with hundreds of loud souls. It still is, but no one can hear them now.

In the early days of autumn the birds flock together and leave the Blue Mountains. They follow the very tips of the cold mountain ranges. They fly from Kaedwen over Aedirn and Lyria. Some settle in Rivia along the river Yaruga, Others fly further towards Toussaint and Mag Turga.

They do not care that they have left the Northern Kingdoms and traveled south into the Empire of Nilfgaard. They do not notice the burning remains of villages and towns and cities under them.

Vesemir watches a flock of greater short-toed larks formate between heavy clouds. They are the last to leave the mountains. He hears the cry of a single bird that has not yet left the ground. It sits between stones and dirt in the ruins of Kaer Morhen. It looks up to the sky, but doesn't fly. A broken wing, a disfigured claw, whatever it is that keeps the bird on the ground, Vesemir has seen it all. Destiny is cruel, even to tiny birds with pretty voices and spotted feathers.

His staring got the attention of the little girl that was practicing her stances with his son. She tries to follow his eyes, squints against the sun and holds up a hand to shield it away. Such a human thing to do, the old witcher muses. She gasps and lets go of her wooden sword.

Vesemir watches silently, unmoving from his place in the shadows of the ruins. The girls runs to his son, tugs at his clothes and pulls him over to where the lark is still sitting between ruins of what once was a tower, used by the older boys for climbing practice. His son looks helplessly at the girl, who crouches down to catch the lark. Her intend is clear to the old witcher, but his boys have seen too much violence, too much cruelty to understand the hopeful, kind mind of a little girl, a little princess.

He remembers a boy, younger than she is now, that came running to him one day, carrying a fledgling in his hands. The boy had been full of kindness, his heart to big to belong to a witcher. He had asked Vesemir to keep the bird, to raise it and set it free, once it was strong enough. Despite the other adult's protests, Vesemir had allowed it. It was supposed to be a lesson.

But the boy with too much kindness had raised the bird and had let it go without heartbreak. He had not made it through the trials, but the bird's descendants still nested between the rocky cliffs of the keep.

It had been a lesson. For Vesemir.

Autumns in Kaer Morhen are quiet. Lambert comes home early this year. He abandons his pack quickly in the courtyard to brawl and bicker with Geralt like the children they still are. The girl watches the two men with big green eyes. Vesemir looks down and sees her smile. He knows, she already likes Lambert.

They take her down the mountain whenever they are send by the old witcher to get supplies for the winter. In late autumn, they come back with Eskel and Coën. And Kaer Morhen finally doesn't seem so quiet anymore.

All of them are in one of the dining halls that evening. Ciri is on the ground a bit further away from the fireplace and plays with the little lark. It still doesn't fly, but it is stronger and sings prettily for her. Vesemir is sitting in his old armchair by the fire, going through the notes of his sons' bestiaries. Geralt kneels on the ground to his feet, deep in the comfort of meditation. Eskel and Coën are playing their third round of Gwent, when suddenly Lambert shoots up from the divan he was sleeping on, letting out a loud string of curses, along the lines of “Gods, Fuck, Shit, Fucking Damnit!”

Both Ciri and Vesemir raise an eyebrow in silent judgment, but don't comment on it, as Lambert leaves the room with hurried steps. Geralt lets out an annoyed groan and falls back on the carpet, limbs spread out. It's good to see him so loose for once, Ciri is a good influence.

They all listen to the youngest witcher running up the steps that lead to his room, go through his packs carelessly and stomp down the stairs again. He's still cursing when he finally returns with an envelope in his hand, that he slaps onto Geralt's chest.

“Melitele's tits, totally forgot about that. It's from that pretty bard of yours. He said you would understand.” Geralt looks at Lambert in confusion, before he quickly sits up and breaks the seal of the envelope.

“How do you know Jaskier?” He asks, while he opens the folded papers. Vesemir takes one look and sees the familiar scholarship handwriting. To his surprise it's not a letter, but... a song? It is written in verse.

“Met him during Belleteyn in Oxenfurt, when I was waiting for Aiden. We passed some time together and he gave it to me, said he wasn't traveling for the rest of the year,” Lambert explains with a shrug.

The smell of jealousy comes as quickly as it vanishes again, but it is enough for both Eskel and Coën to interrupt their game and sniff the air subtly.

Curious, Ciri put the lark on her shoulder, from where it climbs up onto her hair and walks over to Geralt, leaning over his shoulder so she can see the letter. Geralt doesn't correct her.

“It's a poem,” she says, not trying to hide her confusion. “It's a song,” he corrects her, “Jaskier is the bard I told you about.” No one comments on the fact, that Geralt has told her about Jaskier, the bard he hasn't seen for nearly two years.

She nods and squints her eyes. “What does 'dissipate' mean, uncle Vesemir?”

“Scatter. Or waste, depends on the context.”

“And 'agape'? That's Elder speech, right?”

“Yes,” Vesemir answers truthfully, knowing that every witcher is listening to their exchange. Coën's breath hitches at the open declaration of love. “Agape is known to be the highest form of love. It is selfless and unconditional. No matter the circumstances it survives.”

Ciri frowns, “But then why is Jaskier scared of losing Geralt? If it is un- uncon-” She scrunches up her nose and tries again. “Unconditional.” She jumps back, when Geralt suddenly stands up and leaves the room in quick strides. The lark on her head protests loudly at the movement.

She looks after Geralt with big eyes, but knows better than to follow him. She is a quick learner. Still she turns to Vesemir concerned and asks, “Did I say something wrong?”

“No girl,” the old witcher pets her shoulder, “Geralt is just not used to big words with even bigger meaning.”

Lambert scoffs audibly. “He's a fucking idiot, that's what he is.”

> **Lambert and Eskel talk in the kitchens at night**

Lambert and Eskel talk in the kitchens at night. Their words are hushed whispers.

Kaer Morhen was never build for privacy. A keep filled with hundreds of boys and men, in a world where everyone knew everything about everyone. Witcher senses made privacy impossible. After the siege they had drifted apart. They stopped sleeping in the same room, then Geralt moved from the dorms to the tower. “You're too loud,” he had told them and they watched him drift away. Lambert followed his example, moving to the other end of Kaer Morhen's main building. “There I have a bigger bed,” he had shrugged. Eskel and Vesemir knew it was an excuse. Coën stayed in Lambert's part of the keep, whenever he visited. “We kids have to stick together,” he joked. Eskel moved closer to Vesemir's room. “So we don't have to waste firewood for the whole floor.” Another excuse that no one had commented on.

When Ciri first came to the keep she was plagued by night terrors. She moved to Geralt's tower, so she wouldn't disturb the other witchers.

Witcher's can't dream. They don't have nightmares, not like humans do. That doesn't mean, that they don't have sleepless nights. Winter came quickly this year and a snowstorm is raging against the keep. The sounds remind Eskel of a winter he had to spend alone in a cave.

He doesn't sleep, the thought of closing his eyes and waking up in that cave again is too... scary.

But his room is only two doors away from Vesemir's and he doesn't want to keep the old witcher awake for much longer, so he slips out of bed and makes his way towards the kitchen they keep heated at all times. He doesn't bother with clothes, just leaves his shirt and underpants on. It's not like he isn't used to the cold, anyways.

What he finds in the kitchen is not only a warm fire, but also Lambert and what looks like a very expensive crate of wine. A fourth of it is already empty. He doesn't comment on it, like no one comments on anything anymore. Witchers can't get sick, but his stomach cramps non the less. He flops down next to Lambert and takes the bottle.

Lambert protests but doesn't stop him. They sit in silence for a long while, passing the wine bottle back and forth. Outside, the storm rages on and Eskel tries his best to concentrate on the sounds of the fire and Lambert's heartbeat, slow like his own.

“How was he?” Eskel finally asks, but doesn't clarify. Lambert knows exactly who he means.

“Pretty,” Lambert chuckles. “I can't get him out of my head.”

“Are you in love with him?” He asks carefully.

“I don't know.”

Then he adds, “I hope not. I already have Aiden.” Lambert takes the bottle from Eskel and chugs it down. Eskel can smell the guilt on him, the scent burns.

“You know you can love more than one person at the same time,” he tries. His voice is soft and Lambert scoffs quietly. Eskel doesn't remember when he got so sarcastic, so bitter.

“Seems pretty unfair to me,” the younger witcher says dryly and opens another bottle.

Its quiet again for a long time as they share the second bottle of expensive wine. It must have been a gift to Lambert, from some noble, the older witcher muses. But no matter how good it is, human alcohol can barely diffuse a witcher's mind. His thoughts are still racing. The snowstorm is still there. “Do you want to see him again?”

Lambert hands over the bottle and rubs his face with his hands. He looks tired. “Yes. But-,” he can't find the right words, “Geralt and Aiden.”

Eskel understands anyway. “You are allowed to have nice things in life.”

Their eyes meet and gold melts into gold. “Same goes for you,” Lambert whispers without looking away. They can't blame the kiss on the alcohol, they are not drunk. They can't blame it on lust, the kiss is way to soft and chaste. Their wine stained lips move against each other, but they don't deepen it. They can't blame it on the heat of the moment, not when there wasn't any. They can only blame it on themselves.

“I'm sorry,” Lambert whispers when they part. Eskel buries his head in the other witchers neck. The words “I can't” go unsaid, but Eskel understands them. Eskel understands a lot of Lambert's unsaid words. “Stay,” he pleads instead, because he knows that Lambert will.

Lambert and Eskel talk in the kitchens at night. Their words are hushed whispers. Soft praise and reassurance. Outside the snowstorm slowly begins to fade into pink morning light. Eskel leans his body against Lambert's and falls asleep, hoping that he won't wake up in that cave again.

> **Geralt leaves in late spring to find Jaskier ***

Geralt leaves in spring to find Jaskier. Ciri watches him ride away on Roach, but doesn't cry until the evening, when she asks Vesemir if she can sleep in his room. The old witcher reminds her of her grandfather Eist in many ways. She promised Geralt to stay strong until he would return, but she allows herself this little sign of weakness.

Geralt follows the river Lixela to the capital Ard Carraigh where he only plans to stock up on supplies, but then a Griffin contract leads him to Daevon and he spends days between the cliffs of the Kestrel Mountains, tracking the griffin and it's mate.

When he finally finds the nest, it's not two, but three adult griffins. The two males protect their mate and eggs violently. He must be stupid, he thinks, as he pulls his silver sword anyways. There is no way he can survive this in one piece, he thinks, as he runs towards the first griffin. He has left a girl behind, who's safety depends on him being alive. He only ventured out to find Jaskier. The man that declared his everlasting loyalty to Geralt. And his love.

The first griffin falls with a loud roar, Geralt's crossbow is crushed into pieces. The armor on his left arm is shredded by sharp claws. Fuck destiny, he thinks and runs towards the second monster with a barbaric scream.

Geralt is not good at self-preservation. He is not good at many things. But he is a good witcher. He chugs down another potion and does his best to ignore the crippling burn of poison in his veins. Fuck destiny, he thinks, as the griffin rips open his backside. He's spend a year locked away in the ruins of Kaer Morhen. If he can't even kill a griffin anymore, then he has no right to go back. His muscles spasm under him as he rips the griffin's chest open.

The female screams. There is so much blood. The handle of his sword is slippery. He tightens his hold and walks towards the nest, casting Igni with his left hand. His vision is blurry. His legs are shaking. The poison is slowly eating him from inside out. He spits blood onto the rock and keeps going. The female is smaller, much smaller than it should be. It calls for help. Three times, four times, then Geralt has reached the nest. It attacks.

He sets the nest on fire. His silver sword hacks into the griffin's wing, they both fall down the cliff into their death. Geralt loses his sword. Then his vision. He can hear the cracking of his spine rather than feel it. He challenges destiny with his last breath.

> **Jaskier leaves Oxenfurt early in spring ***

Jaskier leaves Oxenfurt in spring. He joins a caravan of travelers and they follow the Pontar to Rinde, where they part. In the post office in Rinde waits a letter from the Baroness and Baron of Yspaden for him.

Over the past year he has kept up a monthly exchange of letters with them. In his last one he had told them about his plans of travel, so that they knew to address their next letter to Rinde and not his private address in Oxenfurt. He opens the letter immediately and is greeted with the portrait of the Baroness' baby boy. He breaks out in loud laughter. Not only has the babe, that the Baron holds in the drawing, cornflower blue eyes, but it also shares his brown hair. Thankfully, the Baron also has brown hair, so it won't be too obvious for outsiders that it is in fact not his child.

Even more exciting is, that they will be in Tretogor for the time being. Jaskier grins widely and pulls out one of his journals, where he has drawn a map of Redania. Pegasus still hasn't found his love for long walks, but he should be able to get to the capital in a week and a half. Tretogor is not really what he had in mind, when he had thought about traveling again, but he would make the best out of it. Maybe he could even play at court.

He hasn't done that in a long time, he realizes, as he walks over the market place. His rather unkind departure with Geralt had taken quite its toll with him. It was time for new adventures. And what better adventure than to see his newborn son? Content with his decision making, he pulls out his lute and strums a happy tune, walking back to the stables where he has left his gelding.

To his dismay no adventure greets him on his way to the capital. And Tretogor is also rather dull. His son is a lovely little bundle of joy and the Baroness and Baron are welcoming him with more than just open arms, but he is quick to leave them again. He makes his way east, carefully avoiding Drakenborg and Montecalvo and ends up crossing the mountain tops right between the two keeps.

It is then, after days of dangerous traveling between rocks and cliffs that he finds out just why he has chosen exactly this path. Or rather, why destiny chose it for him. In the complete wilderness of the Kestrel Mountains stands Roach. Her mane is unkempt, her legs are scratched from thorn bushes and Geralt is no where to be found. But Jaskier knows instinctively that it is Roach.

His instinct is confirmed, when she immediately makes her way up to them and despite never having met Pegasus before, she still comes up close and bumps her nose into Jaskier. Yet again Jaskier is thankful for the fact, that Geralt rides his horses with a bitless bridle. At least the poor girl hadn't been in more pain than necessary. “Roach,” he speaks softly and her ears perk up. “Where is Geralt?”

She stomps nervously and flicks her ears a few times. “Roach. Search. Geralt.” He says as clearly as he can, with his voice starting to shake. It's a command she usually follows with ease. That she is not running off already, is more than just concerning. “Roach. Geralt,” he says again, this time with more pressure in his voice. She throws her head up in respond and finally, finally turns around and makes her way through the rocks and shrubs.

At one point Julian has to dismount Pegasus, when the path is too dangerous for him to be on his gelding's back. In the end, he is glad that he has done it, because his sparse lunch quickly leaves his stomach at the sight that greets him.

“Geralt?” He calls out as pure panic washes over him. “Geralt!” He screams this time, his voice breaks and he runs towards the witcher that is buried under a griffin's corpse. It's only been a day or two, but the body already started smelling. Somehow, with many desperate curses and tears in his eyes, he manages to pull the griffin off of the witcher. He falls to his knees in a dried pool of blood. “Geralt?”

He cries. His mouth is open in horror, his cheeks are red and blotchy, there is snot running down his nose and he violently shakes Geralt. It's not true, he tells himself over and over again. It can't be true. Destiny may be cruel but nothing in this godforsaken world could be this cruel. Geralt lies in a blood stained meadow of buttercups. Poisonous weeds, Julian's mind screams at him. It's too early for buttercups to bloom. They are his fault.

Julian's shaking fingers rip open clasps and buckles of torn armor, when they finally reach cloth he shreds it into pieces. His fingernails claw into the witcher's chest and he presses his hands hard against the skin. “Please, please, please, please, please,” he cries out again and again and again. Then he suddenly jumps back.

A witcher's heart beats around four times slower, than a humans. Julian can hear Geralt's voice in his head. “Roach,” he screams for the horse and scrambles up. They meet in the middle and Julian grabs for the saddlebags, rummaging through bottles and papers until he finds the wooden box with the witcher potions. His hands tremor as he opens the vial and tips it down the witcher's throat. He lets out a string of curses and pulls at his hair, before the empties another one in the witcher's mouth. His hands press down on the man's chest again. Searching, waiting for the faint heartbeat.

When we meditate, Julian hears Geralt say, sometimes our breathing gets so slow, it's barely there, so you can't rely on a witcher's chest rising, to know if he's dead or not. Julian presses his eyes shut and feels more tears run down his cheeks. His lips are moving without a sound. Silent prayers he had been taught in temple school make their way back into his mind. He doesn't believe in gods, but he prays. He prays for Geralt's life. He challenges destiny.

The witcher's eyes blink open.

> **Geralt and Julian meet on a mountain.**

Geralt and Julian meet on a mountain. It is not a kind meeting. Julian cries into the witcher's chest for hours, while the poison slowly makes it way out of his system. At some point, there are audible cracks in the air. Geralt opens his mouth in a silent scream, when he finally feels his legs again. The wolf head around his neck never stops vibrating as more and more buttercups start blooming all over the mountain grounds.

When Geralt finally finds the strength to move his head, he turns to look at Julian. The bard is kneeling next to him, covered in Geralt's blood. The witcher can't find his voice, so he slowly moves his hand towards Julian. It is shaking from exhaustion.

When it finally touches Julian's, the bard grabs it tightly with both of his own, shaky hands. They stay like this for a moment, connected. Then Julian's grasp loosens and the human falls forward into the filthy dirt, exhaustion and shock finally reaching him. They drift asleep like that. Side by side between bloodied rocks and buttercups.

They awake with th early morning light, but neither of them has the will to move. Geralt concentrates on his hearing and makes out two horses nearby. One of them has Roach's familiar heartbeat, the other horse must belong to Jaskier.

He blinks against the sun and his pupils contract into thin slits. It is then that he finds his voice again. “This place is unnatural.” Jaskier next to him hums. “We're near Montecalvo, I imagine the chaos runs wild in some parts of the mountains.”

Geralt closes his eyes again. It makes sense. Magic does run wild in some places. He was lucky. Had he not fallen onto this particular spot... He would have been dead. He would have broken his promise to Ciri and he would have never- His head turns around. Jaskier is lying next to him. Jaskier. “I found you,” Geralt says and his voice is hoarse.

The bard breaks out into hysteric giggles, “Pretty sure, this time I found you.”

Alerted by their noises, the horses make their way towards them. Roach starts nibbling at Geralt's hair affectionately and the witcher reaches up to softly pet her nose. Next to him Jaskier smiles at Pegasus. “So you do care about something in the world, don't you?” The bard sits up and makes a face when he can feel every muscle and bone in his body. Pegasus bumps his head into Jaskier's chest and is rewarded with kisses. Geralt smiles.

He had missed his bard.

“Ugh, I need a bath,” said one complains and tries not to sniff at his bloodstained doubled. “There are no lakes in this part of the mountains,” Geralt comments and gets a offended noise in return. “Did I say lake? No, I said bath. A proper, hot bath in a bathtub with soap and flower petals and candles and warm towels and a bed.”

“Should take us a few days, maybe a week to get back to Daevon.”

“A week? You expect me to stay this filthy for a week?!”

Geralt can't help but to laugh. The sound is ringing in Julian's ears, who looks at the witcher as if he has grown a second head. “Pardon?” The bard says, because that's all he can muster right now. “I missed you, Jaskier,” the witcher says and watches the bard's mouth fall open.

“Who are you and what have you done to Geralt,” Jaskier demands to know, his voice pitched higher than usual.

Geralt slowly sits up. His body aches and the lower half of his back burns, where his spine was broken in half. It reminds him, that he shouldn't be here, that it is a miracle he is still breathing. “I'm trying to do better,” he says. Because it is the truth. And Jaskier deserves nothing but honesty. “Ciri helps me a lot.”

“Ciri?” Jaskier's eyebrows knit together in confusion, his nose wrinkles. “As in Cirilla? Cirilla of Cintra? Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of Cintra?” Geralt carefully tests every muscle in his body, while he nods at the bard. Nothing is missing, nothing new has appeared. He holds onto Roach's saddle as he pulls himself up. It hurts, but he can stand, can move and walk and talk. He focuses on his senses. Smell, sight, touch, hearing, taste. Everything seems normal. He closes his eyes and listens to his organs. Let's himself feel their movement for a second, before the sensation gets too much and he shudders.

“Ciri's save. She waits for us in Kaer Morhen,” he states.

“Us?” Jaskier still looks at him as if he has a second head.

“Yes. Ciri harbors an old magic inside of her, just like Pavetta. She's... connected to us, not only because she's my child surprise, there's something more. One of the first things she asked me was 'Who's Jaskier?'. You're important to her. To me.”

Jaskier is not capable of closing his mouth. He tries, he really does, but as soon as he shuts it, it falls open again. It's too strange. The whole situation is just too strange. He holds up his right hand and slaps himself across the face. Hard.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?!”

He blinks against the tears that collect in his eyelashes and stands up quickly, dusting off his doublet. “Yes, right. Just had to make sure I'm not dead. Honestly, that was the first time I heard you talk for more than a minute.”

“You're still in shock,” Geralt says dryly and Jaskier huffs, throwing his arms in the air. “Well obviously, smartass! Only a few hours ago I saw you buried under a monster corpse, thinking you yourself were dead. Do you honestly think I can ignore that so easily? I am covered in blood,” he pointed at his clothes, “and dirt. I have no tears left in my body and frankly I am exhausted.”

The witcher can feel guilt wash over him. “I'm sorry,” he says and Jaskier waves him off. “The sky is on fire,” the bard mumbles and walks over to Pegasus to search for clean clothes in his packs.

> **Geralt crosses a line**

Geralt crosses a line. And Jaskier might actually start to think the world is ending. Maybe it already started when Nilfgaard took over the south.

“Pack your things, the money for the griffins is not that important. I have a portal bomb to Kaer Morhen,” the witcher says as if it was the most normal thing to say in a situation like theirs. Jaskier lets go of Pegasus' reigns and turns around. “What did you just say?” The bard is prone to hallucinations, but usually they don't alter his hearing.

“A portal bomb,” Geralt repeats and completely misses the point. Again. “We don't use them often, super complicated to make them and kind of dangerous. But Triss made us a handful just for the case that Ciri might end up in danger.”

When Jaskier doesn't answer and Geralt looks at him.

“Kaer Morhen?” The bard echoes.

The wolf hesitates, “Yes. The keep. Home. I must have told you about it?”

Again Geralt misses Jaskier's point. The bard slowly starts to realize that stupidity seems to run in their family. Or more like- obliviousness. Did he honestly not know?

“But what about the line?” He blurts out. At this point he seriously doesn't care anymore. He's tired. And confused. Hungry, scared, annoyed. He hadn't lied when he had said he wanted a bath and a bed and nothing more. Geralt and him went through a lot of shit in the past, but this was the cherry on top.

“What line?” The witcher asks and has the audacity to sound confused.

“The line we don't fucking cross,” he's yelling and makes frantic motions with his hands that somehow resemble a line between him and Geralt, “The invisible line of trust and respect! Where I don't ask about your home and you don't ask about mine! Because we're friends and friends respect each others privacy and Kaer Morhen is your fucking home, the one place in the world where you feel save, the place where you put your child surprise because you knew she would be save. The fucking line that has kept me from asking to see Kaer Morhen for myself because, you know? I am a good friend, a great friend actually and I would never ever in a million years force you to do something you wouldn't want to- like bringing me to Kaer Morhen. That fucking line!”

At the end Jaskier is shouting. Geralt raises his hands and carefully walks towards him. The same way he approaches a scared horse, Jaskier realizes and gives up. He is hallucinating. Nothing else would explain this. “Jaskier,” Geralt chooses his next words carefully, “I think you really need a break. I am going to activate the portal, we will go home and I will bring you to a room, where you can rest. That sounds good?”

There is an arm wrapped around his shoulders and Julian melts under the touch.

Geralt has never hugged him before. It's nice.

“I want a bath,” he whispers into the witcher's chest.

“Anything, Jaskierek. Anything you need.”

Geralt crosses a line. A line he apparently had never noticed and Julian lets himself be swept away by that knowledge. He's still mad, though.

> **Julian wakes up in Kaer Morhen.**

Julian wakes up in Kaer Morhen. He can't recall how he got here in the first place. And it's a shame, because his room is beautiful. A bit dusty, but beautiful non the less.

The wooden bed is placed under the arched window and heavy curtains cover half of the glass, the other side lets the light shine through and brighten the room. The upper part of the window is either broken or opened, but Julian can hear voices coming from outside. A courtyard perhaps? Or a garden? There are many things he doesn't know about the keep. He sincerely hopes he will get to find them out, now that he's here.

He breaths in the fresh morning air and wonders just how long he must have slept, while he slowly sits up. His fingers aren't shaking anymore, the shock has finally left him. He hums, only once and only a single octave, but it is enough to get Geralt's attention.

The man is kneeling across the room in front of the unlit hearth. Apparently he had cared enough about Julian's rambling to rather meditate in the bard's room, than sleep in his own. Julian can feel the warmth pool into his stomach and he smiles.

“Hi.” He crooks his neck and watches as the witcher's eyes open and adjust to the light, pupils merging from big orbs to thin slits. Only then Geralt focuses on him, “Hey. Are you feeling better?” It is such a normal thing to ask and yet, hearing it coming from Geralt seems so strange.

“I guess so. Can't really remember how we got here, to be honest, but other than that I do feel good.” Geralt mimics his earlier hum and for a moment the world seems okay.

“Come on, Ciri has been waiting long enough. She's excited to finally meet you.”

Julian stands up and the world washes away in a familiar rhythm of existence. He follows Geralt quietly. Kaer Morhen is big, so much bigger than he had thought. The architecture looks like it was built in the early 9th century, but some of the maintained tapestries look older. The walls are nearly all made from thick stone, only some pillars and arches are wooden. Most of the windows are arched, a few are barricaded with wood, the glass broken. He catches a glimpse of a kind of training ground outside.

Vesemir is looming in the shadows, watching two men spar with swords. Before he can get a better look they are already past the window and turn around a corner, but Julian hopes that one of them was Lambert.

Apparently they are in some kind of tower, that is build onto the main building of the keep. Geralt tells him that he is basically allowed to go where he wants and do what he wants, as long as he knocks on the doors of the other's private rooms. He is also told not to go in the western dungeons because they are basically falling apart at this point. Julian only nods, hung up on the fact that Geralt calls the basements 'dungeon'.

They walk through a great hall of sorts and Geralt points to various doors. One leads to the used kitchen and laundry room, the other to the dorms where Vesemir and Eskel sleep, another one leads to the 'common rooms' and another will take him to a hallway that eventually leads him to Lambert's room. Julian shakes his head, there is no way he will remember that the first few weeks of his stay. But at least he is free to explore, so he probably won't end up in a 'prohibited' area.

When they finally reach the giant wood and metal doors, Julian has to shield his eyes from the sun. Again he finds himself envious of Geralt's eyes that simply adjust to the brightness at his will.

Turns out, he was right, Julian realizes as they follow a pebble stone path to a courtyard that is used for training. Vesemir – ever so charming – is barking out some orders to the two men. To Julian's delight, one of them actually is Lambert and he grins as the familiar witcher flips the other man over and pins him down on the dusty earth. The other man, Eskel it seems, makes an ugly face and is promptly licked across the cheek by Lambert. He protests loudly and Julian can't help but to laugh at the display.

Lambert turns around and his face brightens.

“Bardling, you're up!” He let's go of Eskel and jogs over to Julian and Geralt. Julian gladly embraces the half-hug and grins on. “Lambert! Good to see you, how are you doing?”

“I'm winning, obviously,” he brags and hoists up Julian with ease. The bard lets out a surprised yelp, but adjusts easily. After all, it's not the first time Lambert holds him up . “What do you say, bardling, want to be my maiden in need? I can rescue you from the bad, bad Eskel,” he wiggles his eyebrows in suggestion and Julian snorts. “Sure, my brave hero,” he deadpans dryly.

“Boys!” Vesemir's voice echoes through the courtyard. Simultaneously Geralt's back straightens, Eskel jumps up from where he was lying on the ground and Lambert lets the bard down with a huff. It's a fascinating thing to watch. Even after decades the witchers all dance to Vesemir's whistle. “Lambert. Walls, now.” Lambert lets out a groan and rolls his eyes, but follows Vesemir's orders after pressing a kiss to Jaskier's cheek. Blue eyes follow the young witcher start climbing up one of Kaer Morhens defense walls with ease, before they snap back to Vesemir.

“Eskel, stances. You keep putting too much weight on your left side. Geralt-” Vesemir stops and his eyes fix on Jaskier. “The stables need mending,” he continues, not breaking eye contact with the human. Geralt huffs quietly and then leaves the courtyard.

The old witcher walks towards Jaskier and it is then, that he makes a decision. Before Vesemir can say anything, Jaskier clears his throat and falls into the customary court bow, one hand pressed close to his chest, the other bowed behind himself. He comes back up and gives the old witcher his best and most charming smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Master Witcher. I think we have never been formally introduced, have we? Julian Alfred Pankratz III, Viscount de Lettenhove. Son of Julian Alfred Pankratz II, son of Alfred Ferdinand Pankratz. Professor at Oxenfurt Academy, Master of the Seven Liberal Arts with Honor Graduation. Famously known across the countries as Jaskier the bard. At your service, Master Witcher.”

His polite smile turns into a cheeky grin and he sees Vesemir sigh. The old man's shoulders drop down and he shakes his head in good manner. “Alright, alright. You have proven yourself, bard. You can hold your own.”

Relief washes over Julian and he is pretty sure the witcher can smell it. Vesemir pats him on the shoulder and leads him down another path. “You're pack now, bard. Get used to some weird customs.” Julian snorts and thinks back on the way Lambert had just licked across Eskel's cheek. “I already am used to plenty weird, old man.”

Vesemir hums.

> **Summers in Kaer Morhen are a rare thing to witness**

Summers in Kaer Morhen are a rare thing to witness. It wasn't always like that, but it is now. Jaskier knows that the witchers usually spend the warm months of the year on the Path. But they all realize the importance of keeping the princess save.

They have come to a sort of routine. In the early hours of the morning, the wolves will prepare breakfast in the kitchen, while he and Ciri walk or ride along the ruins of the keep. More often than not Jaskier is remembered of the fact that the keep was once filled with people.

When breakfast is ready one of the witchers will come find them. Often times it's Coën, who spends his mornings meditating in Vesemir's greenhouse. Sometimes it's Lambert and on rare occasions Eskel calls for them with a shy smile.

After breakfast Jaskier hides away in the library while the witchers train and teach Ciri to fight. Once a week at least, Jaskier allows Lambert to hoist him up and set him down in the courtyard as the price for the winner of the sparing contests. After a while he finds himself so used to it, that he doesn't have to put down his books anymore, when Lambert sneaks into the library to manhandle him.

And while Jaskier and Ciri are not much help when it comes to maintaining the keep, they are good at doing the chores. From cooking and baking to doing the laundry to cleaning the rooms. Kaer Morhen is big and dust collects easily.

He feels useful and Ciri is lovely company. Everything comes together and sets into place.

Slowly but surely Jaskier feels at home in Kaer Morhen. The first time he realizes it, he and Lambert are spread out on top of the stables, trying to catch the last beams of the setting sun. He has his head in the witcher's lap and is reading out loud from a fairytale book. Lambert quietly snickers when the rabbit is tricked by the hedgehog and his wife and the sound makes Jaskier's heart jump. It is then, that he notices how he has never felt so comfortable in a place before.

He loves Oxenfurt, but he is always surrounded and judged by people. The little inn he owns is lovely, but it is nothing to call home. He remembers his cabin at the shore just outside of Fischerskutter and thinks about the twins. Was it home? No. It was a place to stay, to heal and regrow his strength, but it never was home. He thinks about Pankratz Manor and Lettenhove. The shudder that runs down his spine is more than telling. He wishes he could recall his mother's eye color.

Kaer Morhen has become home. He knows it on his morning walks with Ciri, he knows it when he jokes and laughs with Lambert. He knows it when he plays Gwent with Coën and shares a space in the library with Eskel. He even knows it, when he sits down in Vesemir's greenhouse with his lute and plays while watching the old witcher tend to his plants.

He knows he is home in the nights he crawls into Geralt's bed, because he woke up dreaming of monsters and blood. He knows it when he sits down next to Geralt and their knees bump into each other and they hook their elbows together. He knows he has finally found home when he watches Geralt and Ciri play with the little lark the girl has found.

Summers in Kaer Morhen are a rare thing to witness. And Jaskier soaks up every bit of it, while he watches buttercups bloom around the ruins.

> **Julian sees the ghosts of Kaer Morhen**

Julian sees the ghosts of Kaer Morhen. It doesn't come as a surprise to him, the keep is old and even he can feel the flow of chaos under his feet. The stronghold wasn't build into that specific mountain without reason. It starts slow at first, the feeling of wild chaos takes time to get used to again.

Despite Jaskier living in the keep for so long now, Eskel had not really had a chance to talk with the man. He is aware that there is something special about the bard. Lambert doesn't fall in love with just anyone. And he fell quickly. Vesemir obviously approves of him and Geralt's opinion is out of question. The two man have known each other for nearly three decades.

Three decades. That's were Eskel's concern starts. Jaskier does not look older than thirty. He had voiced this particular thought before, but Geralt had simply shrugged and said that the bard probably had some elven blood in his veins.

Yes, Eskel had thought, it was a possibility. But a nagging voice in his head told him that there was more to it. And usually that bastard in his head is right.

That's why one day, he follows Ciri and Jaskier on their morning walk along the ruins of his home. He does not make himself known.

The two follow a wooden path to the outer walls. The first ones to fall in the siege. Jaskier teaches the princess about politics, then recites poems and she tries to mimic him. It's endearing, Eskel thinks. The princess jumps from rock to rock, repeating stances the witchers had taught her. She will make a great witcher one day.

Of course Jaskier starts singing. He is a bard after all and it looks like he has a song fitting for every situation. He has sung for the witchers before, when they all had been together in the library, spending an evening drinking and laughing. The bard had sung quick songs, rowdy ones that were often heard in taverns.

Now... Now he was singing something soft. Something poetic just for him and Ciri and Eskel felt almost bad for eavesdropping. Almost.

> “Are you talking to me or somebody that you once knew
> 
> Passing through?
> 
> Do we talk anymore or do our voices
> 
> Dance around themselves in circles till we can't hear a damn thing?
> 
> We're still as stone but our shadows are dancing
> 
> Upon the wall.”

Jaskier must have sung it before, because Ciri was quietly humming along with him. She didn't seem to know the words, but she was right when it came to the melody. Surely the song must have been for Ciri, but for some reason it reminds Eskel a lot of him and Lambert.

> “Don't let the darkness in
> 
> And your voice just raging
> 
> But how can I protect you from what happened to you then
> 
> What's already been?”

After a while they seem to have had enough adventures for now and sit down in a patch of dry grass, looking at the ruins in front of them. Eskel is standing a few meters back, leaning his body against a broken pillar. They look good together, he thinks, like father and daughter. Jaskier would make a great father. Already is. He is aware that there is something special about the bard. A tiny hint of a smile spreads on his scarred lips and he listens to their conversations.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Julian asks and they both glance at a broken wall that looms in front of them. Ciri nods, “I wonder what it was.” A great hall, Eskel recalls. In winter the boys would all sit in rows and rows of benches and test their knowledge about monsters and potions and herbs, in summer-

“A great hall,” Julian interrupts him. The bard raises his arms high in the air and Ciri giggles. Julian falls into his story telling voice with ease. “With huge walls, higher than you have ever seen. Two rows of colored glass windows with monsters on it. Arches so high, the boys had to climb onto each other to touch the tip. Of course they made a competition out f it every time.” Ciri laughs at the image, but Eskel's smile drops and panic sets into his bones.

“In summer, the doors were always open and the old witchers would come together at night and tell stories to the younger ones and sometimes they would even sing. Can you imagine the old Vesemir singing?” Ciri shakes her head and makes a face. Julian grins at her, “Whenever the witchers of old would sing, every boy in Kaer Morhen would sneak into the hall and listen, despite it being way past their bedtime. It was forbidden, but some of the older boys sneaked in the younger ones and non of the old witchers had the heart to send them back, so they were allowed to stay and listen.”

Eskel feels like throwing up.

He steps towards them, he wants to grab his sword, anything at all, but his hands find nothing so he form tight fists and the cups of his fingernails burn in his skin.

“How do you know that?” Despite his fear his voice sounds steady.

Jaskier and Ciri let out a surprised yelp. “Eskel? How long have you been he-” The witcher interrupts Jaskier and repeats his question, “How do you know that? How do you know what the great hall looked like?” He takes a step forward, Ciri cowers behind Jaskier. She smells like fear. Eskel knows his face scares her and he hates it, but in his panic he can't find himself to care. “How do you know that Vesemir would sing for us? How do you know that we sneaked into the hall?”

Jaskier gulps, his blue eyes are blown wide. They are just staring at each other for a moment, then he turns around and smiles softly at Ciri. “Dearest, why don't you go and see how far the boys are with breakfast?” The girl wants to protest, but he doesn't let her, she takes one look at Eskel's angry, hulking form and quickly runs away.

The bard waits a moment, watches her vanish between ruins and buttercups and bushes, before he turns back to Eskel. He doesn't stand up and Eskel doesn't sit down. Jaskier looks guilty. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to bring up bad memories for you, we didn't know you where there.” Somehow the words make the witcher even angrier. “What are you? What kind of monster would dare to sully Kaer Morhen?!” Eskel shouts and Jaskier winces. He looks small.

“I'm human,” he says and the witcher wants to spit in his face.

“I'm not lying!” Jaskier demands, his eyebrows slowly knit together in a frown. “Smell it, Eskel. I am not lying, I know witchers can tell the truth apart by smell. Look at me. I am not lying and I am human.” Eskel does. He lets go and his senses run wild.

He can hear Jaskier's heartbeat. It's a normal human double-beat, just a little bit faster. His eyes search along the bards body, but there is nothing out of the ordinary. He takes a deep breath, not even trying to hide it. Jaskier smells like... he smells like home. He smells like Vesemir's greenhouse and Roach, he smells like Lambert and the wood polish of his lute. He even smells a bit like Eskel. Jaskier does not have the sour smell of a lie cling to him. He's not even scared, anticipating but not scared.

Jaskier smells like buttercups and-

Eskel's face goes through various emotions at once. He feels his medallion hum. “You're- You're magic.” The bard snorts.

“No. I'm not 'magic'. The chaos in places like this,” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, “just likes me. It kind of... channels through me. It makes me see memories of the past sometimes.” He shrugs a bit helpless. Eskel visibly deflates. “What?”

“I can see it.” His voice is soft, soothing and it is like nothing the witcher was expecting. “There are a few factors that go with it, but if the chaos around me is strong enough I get a glimpse of what once was. I can see the ghosts of Kaer Morhen, of the keep itself, how it looked like, what the people that lived here did on a normal day. Sometimes I can see the spirits that are still around, but that's it. It's like hallucinations. Just that they are- real?”

The terrifying thing about the conversation is, that Jaskier was not lying. Not once. Either the human Geralt had brought into their lives is completely bonkers, or he is saying the truth. Cautiously the witcher sinks to his knees, levels himself with Jaskier.

Julian carefully takes the witcher's hands in his own. “I'm sorry,” he says and looks like he means it. “It was never a problem until now. It never came up on my travels with Geralt and I was afraid of how you'd react.” He sighs deeply and looks so much older for a moment. “Would it help you understand if I show you?” The witcher's breath hitches, “You- You can do that?”

“Not for long, I'm afraid. I have no control over it, since it's not my own magic. Most of the time it's a pretty useless ability, but if you allow the chaos to flow freely, we can share it.”

Eskel's grip tightens around the bard's hands. He knows they won't have long before Ciri reaches the kitchen and will alert the others. But Eskel always has been thirsty for knowledge. He needs to know, needs to see. Determination sets in. “Do it,” he says, “show me. I need to see it.”

Julian huffs out a tiny laugh. He can feel the magic start humming around them and Julian send Eskel a last, soft smile, before he closes his eyes. “I'm not sure how to describe it. It's a feeling that comes up, when you look at the ruins. Concentrate on that, don't think too much about it. Try not to- try not to think about the people you will see. I'm sure you will recognize some of them, but I'm only able to see memories of crowds. Trying to pick out a specific face and... provoke a reaction hurts me. They are not spirits, just memories and I have no powers over this. The chaos decides to show me, I can't navigate the flow.”

Eskel listens to the explanation and takes a deep breath, wills himself into calmness. He feels the magic of the mountain. They must be close to a ley-line, he thinks. The wolf head around his neck grows hotter by the second and the humming turns into vibrations. The witcher holds his breath and then-

Then he can see it.

* * *

* * *

Song:

[Conversations with Ghosts - Bear's Den](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIeOuLn-ooE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt leaves in late spring to find Jaskier *: Geralt fights some griffins and is very, very stupid about it, you could even say he is a bit suicidal (we will talk about that later) he falls down a cliff and breaks his spine
> 
> Jaskier leaves Oxenfurt early in spring *: Jaskier finally travels again, visits the Baron and Baroness and their newborn son (that is actually his son) and then he travels east and 'meets' Geralt a few days after he fell of that cliff, Jaskier has several panic attacks, but manages to save Geralt's life... and there are... buttercups... in the mountains...


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that I am late, but Inktober has been keeping me busy  
> you ever wanted to see Dandelion as a cat? no? well here is the link  
> [Cat Dandelion/Jaskier](https://artistsfuneral.tumblr.com/post/631071151293153280/dandelions-hat-is-useful-after-all-did)

> **Julian allows him to see through his eyes**

Julian allows him to see through his eyes. Where the ruins are, white lines start growing in Eskel's vision. They glimmer in the morning sun as they rise towards the sky and slowly connect with each other. It is as if someone uses a white piece of charcoal to redraw the walls of the great hall in front of them. He watches broken stone get rebuild into mighty pillars, light shining through giant glass windows that aren't actually there anymore and furniture be set up that has been burned long ago.

Then he sees the people. They are like a sea of moving waves, shining in the sun. Sketches, white outlines, glimpses of them going about their day. A few elder witchers without faces are talking in the doorway. Boys are running around the path in front of the hall and young witchers are all over the place, some talking, some carrying crates or weapons, some deep into their studies. Eskel catches sight of a group of small boys running towards an elder witcher that is leaning against one of the walls and talking to another, shapeless person. And his eyes widen as he realizes that it is Vesemir. Vesemir who grins at the boys and shakes his head at the other person, who surely must be- the image vanishes.

Julian lets go of his hands with a hiss and wraps his arms around his middle. He's breathing hard, panting as if Vesemir had just made him run the walls of the keep. Eskel's blood runs cold, “Fuck, I'm so sorry, Jaskier!”

He grabs the man by his shoulders, trying to catch a look of his face. “Are you alright?” For the second time this morning he feels panic pool into his stomach, this time though, it is because he's worried. Julian had warned him not to concentrate on specific people, if he had seriously hurt the bard, he would never forgive himself.

“Shit,” Julian pants and grins, “I haven't done that in a while.” Eskel's shoulders sag down in relief. Not hurt then. Julian huffs out another breath, “But could you see it? I tried keeping it up for longer, I wasn't sure how-”

Eskel shushes him with a crushing hug. If he had been capable, he would have cried into the bard's shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispers instead. “Thank you so much.” Hundreds of buttercups bloom where they are sitting and Julian's arms wrap around him in an embrace. “Sorry for scaring you,” the bard says quietly and Eskel can't help but to think, that it should be him saying those words. “I'm sorry for not trusting you right away,” he says instead and feels Julian hum.

Needless to say Geralt is not amused when he comes running at them, Vesemir and Lambert hot on his heels. Julian grins at them sheepishly.

> **Julian talks about ghosts**

Julian talks about ghosts with the witchers of Kaer Morhen. It is an exhausting talk and it leaves him nearly asleep with heavy eyelids at the end.

After fussing over him, Geralt walks Julian back to the inner building of the keep, where they are staying. The witcher's hand is planted firmly on his back and spreads warmth across his skin. His head hurts a bit after showing Eskel the ghosts of the fortress, but a warm cup of tea is pressed into his hands by Vesemir and it quickly makes the headache fade away. He is sat down in one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace in the dining hall, where they spend most of their free time. Vesemir is sitting down in the other one, the rest of the witchers settle on the floor.

To Julian's surprise Lambert and Eskel don't sit, like Geralt, at Vesemir's feet, but at his. Lambert even rests his chin on Julian's knee and the bard's free hand automatically finds the short, dark hair and pets it. Get used to some weird customs, Vesemir had said and Julian slowly grasps what the old witcher had meant.

Coën had taken one look at them and had guided Ciri outside, after the girl had made sure, that Jaskier was well and that Eskel was not angry anymore. The griffin witcher had sensed that it was going to be a private conversation.

It is silent for a long time. Julian stares at the rug in front of him, while he absentmindedly scratches his fingers through Lambert's hair. He sighs. They are waiting for him to explain. He looks at his family ring with the crest of Lettenhove and sighs again.

“While the Pankratz family has a lot of money, we only hold the title of Viscounts, so we're not really powerful. The family name goes back for centuries, we're an old family build upon careful breeding,” he grimaces at the words, “and selection to maintain the bloodline. And it's gifts.” Vesemir hums deeply, “You carry elder blood, bard.” Eskel lets out a sound that is something between surprise, confusion and 'sad puppy'.

“So you're like Ciri,” Geralt states from his place. Julian shakes his head. “Yes and no. Ciri is much more powerful, than I will ever be. I already told Eskel, my abilities are pretty useless. I can't control it.”

“And what exactly,” Vesemir chimes in, “are your 'abilities'?”

“I'm... like a pipe. Although that is not a flattering comparison. Chaos likes to flow through me, like a lightning bolt flows through a metal pole, or water through a pipe. Usually nothing happens, it tickles sometimes and that's it. The only thing that it ever affected in the long run is my aging. I guess, spending so much time around witchers, makes me age like one?” Geralt lets out a characteristic 'hm' and Julian goes on. “But in places like this, where the chaos is omnipresent, it can happen that I hallucinate. And not the 'I see pretty lights' kind of, more the 'I can see the ghosts of the past' hallucinations.” He stops, his anxiety rising up like bile. He has never had to tell anyone about this. “Most of the time it's just memories. I can see how Kaer Morhen once looked like, how the people that lived here went about their days. And sometimes I can see spirits that decided to stay.” Julian doesn't know how to continue. His fingers leave Lambert's hair and fiddle with the hem of his shirt. For a while he only hears silence and his own, nervous breathing.

“Why did you never tell me?” Geralt asks and Julian huffs out a nervous laugh. “What for? It was never of importance, you didn't exactly sat me down between some elven ruins and asked me to talk to spirits.”

“You can do that?” This time it's Eskel who speaks, “But when you showed me and I tried to focus on Vesemir it vanished?” Julian looks up again and to his right, where Eskel is sitting on the floor with his legs crossed. “That wasn't a spirit. That was a memory. They are two different things. Technically they are both ghosts, or at least I call them that, but memories are simply showing what happened in the past, like living portraits. The chaos decides to show me things, I guess, but I can't control it. Spirits are their own thing... person. They are not bound to the flow of chaos.”

“So... Kaer Morhen is haunted?”

“No. That's not how I would put it. Spirits stay around places they loved. Like really, really loved. The keep is their home and they are doing what they love to do. There is a spirit down by a broken well along the outer walls, that just feeds ghost chickens every time I see it. They mean no harm. Like the spirits that follow Vesemir.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Vesemir's face drains of all color and there is an audible whine coming from the other witchers. Anxiety fills Julian's chest. “No! Gods, no, not like that. They don't haunt you, Vesemir, I promise! They follow you because they like you.”

“Like... me,” the old witcher echoes.

“Yes. Love in fact. They follow you because they like your company. It's just two small spirits and an adult one. Besides the adult spirit can be found everywhere in the keep. I think it wants to keep you save...”

“Do you-” Vesemir's voice breaks and he clears his throat. “Do you know who it is? Do you have a name?” Julian shakes his head. “I don't, sorry. I never talked to them, it felt wrong. It felt like I would be betraying you.”

He feels tired. It's almost noon and he hadn't had anything to eat yet. Letting Eskel see through his eyes and now talking about his abilities, while the fear of being kicked out gets worse and worse; it drains him.

He rubs his face and sighs again. He has done that a lot today. The headache creeps back between his temples. “Are you okay, Jaskier?” Eskel sounds worried and Julian's smile comes out weird despite his best efforts not to worry him further. “I will be. Just a headache.” Eskel frowns and places a hand on Julian's knee. “Is it a side effect?”

Julian nods. His eyes are getting heavy. Stupid human physiology. “Headaches and flowers, sometimes I pass out,” he murmurs. “Flowers?” Someone asks.

“Buttercups,” he explains, “They spread whenever the chaos connects with me for longer than normal, or when I try to use it.”

A breath hitches and a whine rings through the room. Julian opens his eyes.

“The- at the mountain. The buttercups.” Geralt's eyes are blown wide in horror. “That was you.” Julian hums, he feels heavy. “You- You saved my life, Jaskier.”

“Wouldn't be the first time I had to ask the chaos to save you.” The white wolf is pale as the phantom pain of his spine being snapped in half creeps up. “After the djinn... when the castle fell onto us,” his voice is mere but a whisper. Julian's head slowly falls to the side of the armchair. He hums again. His mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton. A hand finds his cheek and he leans into it. “Jaskier? Hey, you okay?” He nods. “Tired. 'm passin' out. S'rry.”

Vesemir says something to Geralt. The old witcher sound angry. Someone picks Julian up and he is surrounded by Lambert's scent. Lambert is warm. Always so warm, he thinks as he is lulled into sleep.

> **Jaskier wakes up in a warm bed ***

Jaskier wakes up in a warm bed. His limbs are heavy and sleep still pulls at him, but he wills himself to wake up. He knows the others must be anxious about him.

He breathes in deeply and his nose fills with Lambert's and Eskel's scent. Together they smell like leather, books and black powder. His eyelids flutter, but he's not ready to open them yet. There's an arm wrapped around his middle, that tightens at his movements. Someone is pushing away loose strands of his hair. Fingers slide over his bare stomach, he hums. The movement stops. “Sorry,” Lambert whispers behind him. He sounds oh so soft and Jaskier can't help but smile.

“S'okay. Feels nice,” he murmurs and the caressing starts again. It's not Belleteyn, he thinks as he slowly opens his eyes. There is no heat outside, no need to prove anything. No clawing feeling of anger is left inside his stomach, no need for fake dominance. His eyes finally open and blue meets gold. “Hey,” he greets Eskel in front of him softly. The witcher raises up his shoulders and gives Jaskier a tiny, shy smile. Gods, he thinks, no one would believe how adorable they truly are.

“This okay?” Eskel asks, because of course he would ask.

Jaskier huffs out a tiny laugh. “It's perfect.”

He uses his left hand to intertwine his fingers with Lambert's and carefully raises his free hand to Eskel's face, giving the witcher more than enough time to duck away. He doesn't and Jaskier softly cradles his cheek with his palm. His fingertips rest against Eskel's temple and he lets them move along the man's eyebrow, featherlight touches against scarred skin. The witcher leans into the touch, takes Jaskier's hand into his own and presses a kiss to it's palm.

Jaskier's skin sprouts goosebumps.

Lambert kisses the back of his neck, where brown curls start to grow. “Scared the living shit out of us yesterday, pretty bardling. You slept through the rest of the day.” Jaskier turns around, so he is lying on his back and can face Lambert. He presses an apologetic kiss to the witcher's jaw bone. “Didn't want to scare you, sorry.” He buries his face in the crook of Lambert's neck. “I never had to explain it to anyone. And I was afraid you would kick me out.” Eskel growls next to him, “Never, buttercup.” A promise. A new name.

“Eskel,” Lambert says and his voice sounds... hopeful. The older witcher shifts and is leaning over Jaskier, to reach Lambert. Their eyes lock, gold melts into gold in a silent conversation. Jaskier doesn't dare to breathe and disturb them. He watches in awe as Eskel leans in closer and closer until his lips meet Lambert's and the witcher's eyes fall close. Lambert's hand, the one that isn't still holding onto Jaskier, finds it's way into Eskel's long hair and tugs him even closer. Heat pools into his chest and stomach, rises into Jaskier's cheeks and makes him shudder. He lets out the breath he had hold onto and it comes out with a broken noise. Two heads snap around and stare at him with wide eyes. He squeaks and claps his hands over his red face. Damnit he's an adult! He pulls his hands away and blinks at the two witchers.

“Feeling left out, little bardling?” Lambert's grin is feral and for once he finds himself in a lack of words. Still on top of him Eskel growls again, long and deep and is rewarded with a soft whine from the bard. “Fuck, Lambert. Do you smell him?” The witcher leans down and licks a long stripe across Jaskier's throat. The bard shivers helplessly. “Fucking divine, Eskel. Smells like he wants us. Like he wants to be wrecked.”

Oh gods above, Jaskier prays, please don't let this be another dream.

Eskel tilts his head. The earlier shyness gone. Instead their eyes lock and Jaskier watches as the witcher's pupils blow wide. He lets out a groan at the sight and then his hands are up and around Eskel's neck, one hand fisting his hair and he pulls the witcher down, down until their bodies aline and Eskel groans when his hardening cock presses against Jaskier's and then their lips meet.

It's been so long, too long, since he tasted Lambert's lips, but he remembers them so well, that he can't help himself but compare them to Eskel's. The older witcher's lips are fuller, bigger and softer. As they move against his own he can feel where the scars split them and he nips at that spot with his teeth. Eskel's breath hitches and Jaskier takes it as an invitation to concur his mouth with his tongue. Next to them Lambert groans.

They eventually let go of each other with a filthy, wet sound, tongues still connected by a thin string of spit. Jaskier pants hard and grins. The witcher on top of him looks completely blissed out. Jaskier sits up and latches onto his throat, sucking and biting at the skin, making the man growl again. The tip of his nose runs along Eskel's jaw and he nibbles at his earlobe, before he pulls away and whispers, “I thought you wanted to wreck me.”

“Fuck!” Lambert nearly yells, and shoves Eskel off of the bard. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. You have no right to look so fucking hot, while saying these things.” He chuckles softly and watches Lambert scramble on top of his thighs, fingers yanking at the cords of his breeches. Once they are open, Lambert shoves his hand down and takes a firm hold of Jaskier's cock. The bard bucks up and lets out a loud moan, making Eskel curse in response. He shoves his shoulder against the younger witcher and a second hand finds its way into the bard's breeches. He keens, buckles again, his back hollowing and his hands fist at the sheets.

The witchers are fighting over him.

They are fighting over him, like they've done so often during training. This time though, the winner does not only get a peck on the cheek. And they know it. Jaskier shudders at the realization.

They push and shove each other, snap, bite and growl as they free Jaskier of his clothes and quickly rid themselves of their own. All he can do is watch and moan and whimper. And fuck they look beautiful, he thinks as he finally gets to look at them. He wants them painted like that, naked, hard, kneeling next to each other on the bed. They kiss, fight for dominance. Eskel claws at Lambert's shoulder and Lambert takes Eskel's hair in his hands and pulls. Jaskier is panting hard. He wants to see them both on their knees, pretty cocks flushed red as they beg for him to fuck them. He groans. Not today, he tells himself, today he will be the one that is fucked senseless. They promised.

And they fully intend to keep that promise.

As soon as they let go of each other, their gazes fix on Jaskier and feral grins spread on their faces. The bard only is able to blurt out a small “Fuck” before he has two witchers leaning over his hard cock, kissing, nibbling and sucking at his hot flesh. He loses the ability to speak after that. They get a taste of his cock with tiny kitten licks and long, knee-weakening streaks of their tongues. They fucking tongue-fuck each other around his twitching cock. And Jaskier shivers and whimpers under them. His hands claw into the linen sheets under him and -shit – he can hear fabric ripping.

Then Eskel - brilliant, clever, damned Eskel - swallows his whole length in one go. Jaskier feels like he's choking on thin air and it feels like he's already about to cum then and there. He stutters out Eskel's name and the witcher groans around him. Shaking hands claw into Eskel's hair and he softly halts his movements. “Slow,” he pants, “Please slow, don't want to cum yet.”

“You know what I've been wondering?” Lambert says with an evil grin that makes Jaskier lick his lips. “I've been wondering... if you age like a witcher, can you also cum as often?”

Jaskier screams out a high pitched note as Eskel swallows around his cock, the same time Lambert bites a bruise into the sensitive skin of his upper thigh and presses a slicked finger against his waiting hole. He orgasms then, hot spurts of cum that Eskel swallows obediently, while Lambert uses the moment to work the first finger deep inside of him.

Eskel pulls back with a hum and licks his lips. “Only one way to find out, Lambert.” He tilts his head in amusement and looks down on the bard. “You make such pretty noises when you cum, buttercup. I'm sure the whole keep has heard you. Everyone knows you're ours now. Ours to keep and ours to ravage.” Jaskier shivers. Witcher hearing, fuck, right. And he's been so loud, gods. He covers his face with his arm, “Fuck.”

Lambert laughs, never stopping the stretching. “Don't worry, bardling. The way they look at you, they are absolutely jealous right now.” He makes a broken noise that erupts from the back of his throat. “Oh. Oh, you like that idea, don't you, buttercup? How filthy of you, two witchers are not enough.” Eskel grins at the revelation.

“Gods. Gods, please,” Jaskier breathes, legs shaking, cock standing hard against the softness of his lower stomach. “La- Lambert, please! Need- Need more.”

“So pretty, when you're begging, buttercup,” Eskel says softly and catches Jaskier's lips in another kiss. Lambert makes a low sound at the sight and carefully works another finger into Jaskier. Now that the bard is not so distracted anymore, he concentrates on the feeling of two thick fingers moving inside of him, rubbing against his walls and searching for- Jaskier breaks apart from Eskel with a loud keen. Lambert chuckles softly behind them. “Found it,” he grins and moves his fingers again and again over the sweet spot inside of Jaskier.

The human turns into a pleading, wriggling mess under them and both witchers watch him fall apart in quiet amazement. The air around them is heavy , stuffy with lust and that tiny bit of magic, that they now can sort to Jaskier. Eskel finally understands what Lambert had meant, when he had said the bard was pretty.

Lambert watches with interest as Eskel reaches for the bottle of slick and coats his ow fingers with it. He sits down closer to the other witcher and bites in Lambert's shoulder, as he presses one of his coated fingers next to Lambert's and pushes in. Jaskier cries out a string of curses, completely forgotten his earlier shame about the witcher hearing. Together, they rub their fingers along his walls, pressing and prodding and Jaskier cums again with a shouted cry, covering his chest in long ropes of spend.

Eskel doesn't dare to look away, as he and Lambert spread Jaskier's cheeks apart. His hole is glistering in the slick, that is running down his cleft. Rim red and puffy and clenching on their fingers so prettily. Lambert hums next to him.

“First time I met him,” Lambert groans, “I spend the whole night fucking him raw. Covered him with my marks and cum and he loved every second of it.” Jaskier moans out Lambert's name, hand reaching up, searching for something to grasp and Eskel reaches out. Their fingers intertwine and Jaskier squeezes, hard.

“Please, please. I'm ready, please. Need you, want you, please,” he cries and Eskel swears. They carefully remove their fingers and Lambert alines his cock with Jaskier's hole. For all they've done so far, Lambert is careful, when he presses in, slowly rocking his hips forth, waiting for a sign of hurt in the bards face. But his cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and open, panting out breaths, eyes fluttering open and close. When Lambert is completely inside of him, Jaskier whines, his spread legs shaking from exhaustion. “Don't- Don't hold back you fucking idiot. You promised- promised to wreck me!”

Eskel watches Lambert break and fall apart. The witcher pulls back slowly, before he rams himself back into Jaskier's hole. Both moan loudly at the feeling and Lambert starts fucking the bard in quick, hard movements. Jaskier's eyes find Eskel's and he cries out the witcher's name. “Fuck, Fuck Jaskier, so pretty,” the older witcher breathes and claws and bites at Jaskier's skin. He wants to cover the bard in bruises. Mark him.

Lambert picks up speed, his hands forming bruises, where they hold onto his hips. Jaskier starts begging for more again. Eskel can't hold it any longer, can't hold himself up. He reaches around his own cock and starts fisting it in the same brutal pace Lambert's hips snap forward. His orgasm crashes down on him with a force he had never experienced before. He fucking wails as he grabs hold of his cock and cums and cums onto Jaskier's chest and stomach and thighs. Lambert curses, Jaskier cries and they both follow him over the edge.

They collapse into a boneless pile on the bed. Jaskier's back aches and he rolls to his side, just to be surrounded by his two witchers again. He hums. “I'm going to take a nap, you fantastic bastards. And when I wake up, there better be a bath waiting for me.” Lambert chuckles and it is a sound, the bard could fall in love with, he thinks.

Jaskier can hear birds outside the window and it feels like home.

> **Things change after that**

Things change after that. For the better, Jaskier thinks, but the change is obvious none the less.

Geralt still keeps his distance, like he does since they arrived at the stronghold. It wasn't so obvious at first. But with the other inhabitants of the keep having warmed up to him, his distance stands out and Jaskier doesn't know how he feels about that. On one side he is glad, relieved actually, that he doesn't spend more time than necessary with the white wolf. Things are... weird between them, uncomfortable. Geralt clearly doesn't know how to act around Jaskier anymore and Jaskier, who had spend decades with the other man, doesn't know how to react to said ones insecurity.

On the other side, he does miss the grumpy witcher. Geralt is awfully loyal towards his friends and family. Jaskier often finds Geralt watching him, when he and Ciri are climbing along the ruins for fun. He cares, watches out for them, wants to protect them, him. Jaskier knows he would be there in an instance, if something was to happen, but without that, Geralt can't seem to find the courage to approach him.

Over the summer, Jaskier had more than enough time to think about their past relationship and all the things that had gone wrong. Looking back there had been moments when he hadn't been any less toxic towards Geralt than a certain sorceress. A scary revelation, but Jaskier had been young and in love. By the time he had learned that not everything in life fit his romanticized ideal, he had already been standing in a metaphorical pit. It had been too late. And Yennefer had been caught in between their war.

It isn't fair, to none of them and it dawns on Jaskier, that he has to fix things. The problem is, he doesn't know where to start. Geralt is too scared to do so and Melitele knows where Yennefer is running around, moping. At least the other witchers and Ciri are not as dense.

Another thing has changed. More often than not, Jaskier finds his way into either Lambert's or Eskel's bed at night. They don't always fuck, but when they do it's fantastic and for the first time in decades, Geralt actually looks at Jaskier as if he's jealous. After vehement promises from both Lambert and Eskel, that Jaskier is not destroying their 'secret witcher dynamic' the bard may or may not had found himself enjoying the extra pair of eyes longing after him. It's a beginning.

There's also cuddles. So many cuddles and he loves every second of it. The witchers are hesitant to approach him at first, but as soon as they notice how well he responds, they're always in his personal space.

Lambert loves to pull Jaskier in his lap, so the smaller man can bury his face between Jaskier's shoulders or his neck. That's also the reason why Lambert loves to be the big spoon, he likes to wrap himself around Jaskier and Eskel and hold them tightly in his arms. The little voice in the back of his head tells Jaskier it is because Lambert is afraid to lose them, but Jaskier tries his hardest to concentrate on the good things now.

Eskel likes to pick them up and plant them on their lap so that they are sitting chest to chest. He also loves to pull Jaskier on top of him, when he's lying on his back, so Jaskier can act as a human blanket for the witcher. Still, Jaskier likes it best, when they are all cuddled up in a pile and he is made into a comfortable-bard-sandwich. He knows it is part of whatever witcher wolf-pack dynamic they have going on, but he is glad to be included. He can't say he has ever felt more loved than in his witchers arms.

Ciri, ever the delightful little gremlin, has - like his witchers - no sense for privacy, when it comes to physical affection. She doesn't care if Jaskier is alone or already cuddling with someone, she just throws herself on top of whoever is closest. Vesemir had commented on it only once and said comment was nothing more than a shrug and a simple “She is a wolf, what do you expect?”. So yes, there was definitely a pack thing going on.

> **Coën leaves at the end of summer**

Coën leaves the stronghold at the end of summer. Jaskier watches buttercups bloom between the brick in front of his room and sighs. Ciri's nightmares worsen. They consider bringing her to Aretuza. The witchers are restless, Lambert starts snapping at Geralt more and more often. They are not used to staying in one place for so long.

Vesemir sends them down the mountain path for supplies, no one mentions that they take longer and longer to return. Jaskier knows they need their freedom and the upcoming winter makes them nervous. No wolf witcher spends two years hiding away in their den without going insane. The Path calls for them.

One morning, Jaskier is sitting in the courtyard with his lute, when a sharp whistle makes his head shoot up. Vesemir is standing in front of the entrance, fingers in his mouth. To Jaskier's delight, not only do the witchers come like puppies, but also does Ciri run into the courtyard. He smiles to himself.

“Grab the scythes,” Vesemir says to the other witchers, “It's time to cut the meadows before the thunderstorm reaches us.” Jaskier looks up and frowns at the clear blue sky. A flock of birds crosses his view and he wonders if Ciri's little lark is with them. Lambert complains loudly. Clearly he is not a fan of mundane farm work. The bard grins.

On his travels he has often seen the farmers and their wives in the fields, scything down tall grass and crops for hay and food. By mid-day most of them were shirtless. He licks his lips and tips his head. Eskel and Lambert, shirtless in the sun, while sweat sparkles on their skin. Next to him, Eskel growl quietly. Ah yes, he thinks, the man can probably smell his desire.

“Bard,” Vesemir barks and Jaskier ducks his head with a sheepish smile. Ciri makes a disgusted face. “You know how to hold a scythe?” He shakes his head and Vesemir hums. “Then go hunting, there's some longbows with the training swords. We will take all day, so impress us when we come back, Julek.” They stare at each other for a moment, before Jaskier's head falls back and he bursts out laughing. The oldest witcher smirks.

Geralt snarls loudly. “Jaskier can't hunt.” Eskel looks at him in confusion, while Lambert starts growling. The air thickens. “What do you mean? Why can't buttercup go?” The white wolf glares at Eskel, “Because he can't hunt!” Jaskier lets out a loud, annoyed groan and throws his hands in the air. “For fuck's sake, Geralt! Did you ever listen to me at all? Of course I can hunt, I'm not an invalid.”

“I never said you were.”

“Oh, but you thought it!” His words are venom on his tongue.

“Fine. If you can hunt, then why did you never, when we traveled together?” Geralt crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking smug. Jaskier feels his eye twitching. That man honestly had the audacity!

“Because you didn't let me!” Jaskier is yelling now. Lambert's growl deepens and Ciri takes a step back. They are all pent up, emotions easily scratching on the surface. Anger floods his body like boiling water. “I offered hunting for us so many times in the beginning, but you always, always denied me! Fine, maybe I was a stupid kid when we first met and didn't know a lot of things that were natural for you, but I was never helpless!” Geralt upper lip raises and he bares his teeth like an actual wolf would do. To everyone else, it would have looked terrifying, but Jaskier only steps closer to the witcher and glares at him.

“Do you know how long it takes to travel from Oxenfurt to Posada? How many skills I already had, when we met? You babied me, Geralt. Because in your eyes I was nothing more than a weak, defenseless, helpless, useless human child. Well, congratulations for finally waking up. There are many, many things that I am better at than you. Frankly, you're aim is shit and I am an excellent hunter.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, he turns around and stalk off to get a set of hunting gear. Tears burn in the corner of his eyes but he quickly wipes them away as he grabs a bow and quiver. He doesn't saddle Pegasus, he is still way to angry to ride carefully, so he walks past the group of witchers again and makes his way towards a broken wall that leads into the woods. He knows they can smell how hurt he is, but he keeps his head held high. He still has a bit of his dignity left after all.

Eskel catches up with him easily and walk next to him, clearly concerned. “Where are you going, buttercup?” He sighs and stops, takes a moment to collect his thoughts. He knows it's not fair to Eskel. The raging anger in his stomach is not meant for his sweet lover, but frankly he is not up for kind words and softly spoken concern, right now. Still...

“I'm not going to walk aimlessly in the forest, love. Don't worry. I will follow the Killer.” Eskel's golden eyes widen. “But, the Killer is dangerous! What if you misstep and-”

Jaskier shushes him with a chaste kiss, “I'm not going to walk it alone.” He smiles softly, before the pressure on his chest becomes to much and he hurries into the forest.

> **Julek walks the Killer**

Julek walks the Killer. He doesn't run it, because he's not stupid, but he walks the overgrown forest trail like so many did before him.

Over the past weeks he had gotten more and more comfortable not hiding his abilities around the witchers. He had never spend this much time around a natural source of chaos, but the white lines and ghosts in his vision had become a steady part of him.

When he had said to Eskel that he was not going to walk the Killer alone, he had meant it. In front of him is a group of young boys, that is lead by a fairly young witcher. Next to them are boys and men of all ages sprinting through the woods. Julek sees glimpses of familiar faces, but doesn't dwell on it.

The Killer takes him down a tiny trail to the foot of a cliff, where he has to climb from rock to rock to not fall into deep gorge. He quietly hums to himself, to steady his nerves. Next to him a boy giggles and jumps from rock to rock with ease, while he repeats a nursery rhyme. “Along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head.” Julek snorts and rolls his eyes. “Great advice,” he whispers into the quiet forest. Even little witcher boys needed nursery rhymes, why not make it about a path they call the Killer?

When he reaches the other side of the gorge, he sits down in the tall grass next to the forest trail. He pulls up his knees to his chest and hides his face. It seems like he can't do anything right. Hadn't he just decided to fix things? Weren't things starting to get better?

Tears run down his face, but this time he doesn't try to hide them. No one can see them, he's alone. Julian shivers without feeling cold. He slowly falls apart and no one is there to catch him. It's better like this.

“Why do I always get so angry at him?” Julian asks, the forest doesn't respond. He knows the answer anyways. With all that has been going on, with all of the- distance between him and the witcher, he had tried to ignore it. But agape is not something you can ignore. “Fuck,” he curses quietly. Unconditional, everlasting love. He is doomed. That is the problem, isn't it? He had always been someone who gives his heart away easily. But Geralt... Geralt is someone special, even to him. He loves Lambert and Eskel, he loves the Baron and Baroness of Yspaden. He loves Ciri and his other children, he even starts to love Vesemir. But that stupid son of a – white wolf has not only stolen his heart and run away with it, but he has also brand marked him. That's why it hurts so much. Why every comment makes him so angry, why the distance is so frustrating.

Again, he thinks, it's not fair. It's a coping mechanism. Lambert gets angry easily, he brawls and shouts and pushes, like a scared dog that has learned barking and biting will keep it safe. Get angry before you get hurt. Jaskier is a lot like Lambert, that's why it is so simple for him to understand the youngest witcher. Jaskier is loud, open, always happy. A loud mouthed, foolish bard. A charade to protect him. Eskel is the exact opposite. He's quiet, nearly shy when it comes to affection and feelings, scared and withdrawn. Don't interact if you want to stay safe.

Geralt with his sometimes unbearable desire to protect, needs to be in control. If he can control a situation, nothing bad happens. But it does and when it does Geralt's safety falls apart and he gets defensive, aggressive.

Julian sighs and rubs his face. It is hard to be in love with Geralt, because love is nothing the witcher can control. The witcher can't let anyone else take over.

Geralt is belittling him because he can't deal with the fact that a weak human could be in control, could be better than him at something mundane like hunting. And it's exactly that belittling that always makes him so angry at Geralt. He knows he's worthless for the witcher in many aspects, but he does know his ways around a lot of things and a little appreciation would be nice sometimes.

He huffs out a breath and slowly sits up. If Geralt is not ready to make a change, then fine. He will concentrate fully on Lambert and Eskel instead.

Slowly Julek stands up again. He has all day, Vesemir did say, but he still should get going. He takes a moment to collect himself and he can feel the by now familiar tickle in his fingertips. A boy runs past him, long hair flowing behind him and Julek follows the direction he went.

The forest around him is thick, unkempt and mysterious. It's certainly clear why the witchers used it as a training path. Even going as slow as he does, he has to be careful, climbing over and under rocks and trees, making his way across multiple other streams that wind their way through the mountainside. It's beautiful, a bit scary, but beautiful. He hasn't written any new songs in a while, but he can feel his muse creeping up behind him.

Maybe he could write a song about the mountains? He has written awfully many songs about heartbreak, he definitely has to change that. He does not plan on leaving Kaer Morhen for a while, but when he does, he can't earn coin in taverns and courts with sad songs. No, that won't do. Something rowdy. Rowdy, but soft at the same time, that should work with both the lads and ladies, he thinks.

Maybe a fast middle part that they can remember easily-

His thoughts are interrupted by the cry of a stag in the distance. He stops and turns his head. Next to him an adult witcher sprints through the forest, out of the corner of his eye it looks like Geralt. He sighs and follows the noise of the stag.

When he hears it again, much closer this time, he quickly cowers down. Slowly, he takes the hunting bow from his back and two arrows out of the quiver. He holds one between his teeth and the other rests loosely in his hand, before he starts crouching towards the sound. He smiles. Not because the thought of hunting amuses him, but because he finally can be useful again. Impress them. Bring home food and a new fur hide for the winter. Prove yourself.

Behind a tree line starts an open meadow, where a group of does and stags is grazing.

Julek forces himself to even out his breathing as he slowly rises behind a tree. The greater stag lifts it's head alerted and looks around, Julek closes his eyes and bows his head barely to cover the brightness of his skin with his dark hair. His bangs have gotten long, he will have to cut them soon, he thinks. Maybe one of the witchers can help.

He counts the beats of his heart. When he doesn't hear the group running away from him he looks up again. The stag has gone back to grazing. Julek lets out a relieved breath. Vesemir's voice rings in his ears saying “Impress us” again and again. His gaze drifts over the meadow.

The does have young, so none of them. Hunting the greater stag would be impressive but also absolutely stupid. His eyes finally fall to the young stags, maybe two or three years old, ramming their antlers against each other. An earlier loser stands a little bit to the side.

Julek slowly pulls back the string of the bow. He has picked his target.

> **Ciri is glaring a hole into Geralt's back**

Ciri is glaring a hole into Geralt's back, he witcher is sure of it. She has not said a single word to him since they left the keep. She knows that he hates 'the silent treatment' and uses that knowledge without mercy. Her silent, angry staring is like a dagger that she slowly pushes into his chest. She is sitting on the fence that encloses the meadow they use for the sheep in spring.

The witchers are on their third row of scything down the grass, when she finally speaks up. Her voice is angry and she slips into her Cintran accent. “You do realize, you're a huge fuck-up, do you Geralt?” Said witcher nearly cuts into his own leg. Lambert breaks out laughing somewhere behind them. Geralt opens his mouth to correct her on her language, but she stops him, before he can get a single word out.

“Donkey's arse, Geralt! Don't you dare correct me, I'm the fuckin' princess of Cintra, I talk how I want to. Now, what the fuck do you think you're doin'? Treating Jaskier like a piece of horse shit?”

Geralt gapes at her. Clearly the witcher is not ready to be lectured by his own child. Ciri raises her eyebrows and makes a movement with her head that translates vaguely into 'talk already'. “I was not-,” he starts but is cut off again. “Yes you were. Go lie to someone else, if you think that's how life works. But it won't get you far.”

He frowns at her. Long. One of his typical, Geralt-tries-to-understand-but-fails-completely-faces stares at Ciri. She stares back, because she's good at staring back. It is one of the many things she has learned, living with five witchers for over one and a half years.

“You will apologize to him, Geralt.” She is calmer now, but not averting his eyes. “Because that is no way to treat your friends. That's no way to treat anybody. Especially not someone who loves you.” Geralt looks away, swallows. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he says and Ciri huffs out a breath. “Fuck's sake, should I go back to yelling at you? Is that the only way you understand things? Of course he loves you, you stupid ox. Have you forgotten it already? The song? The song he gave you, in which he declared is undying love for you?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, “Jaskier declares his love to anyone.” Behind him Lambert and Eskel have stopped working, Vesemir is the only one who acts as if he isn't listening. Ciri jumps down the fence and stands in front of the man with her arms crossed. “You are absolutely unbelievable.” Their eyes meet. “Geralt, do you still love me?”

“What? Of course Ciri, why would you even ask that?”

“Do you love Eskel? Lambert? Vesemir?”

Geralt's chest tightens. Ciri is staring at him, but gives him time. He can feel their eyes on his back. He nods eventually. “Does that mean you can love more than one person at the same time?” He nods again. “And do you, Geralt, love me the same way you love Vesemir, Eskel or Lambert? Do you love me the same way you love Roach?” The witcher shudders and shakes his head. Ciri looks happy with his reaction.

“There are many different kinds of love. Jaskier loves us. He truly does, and I know that because he is not afraid to tell us, again and again and again. But you, you stupid ox, are special.” Her posture loosens and her eyes finally sparkle again. “I looked it up; Agape. The highest form of love; it embraces a universal, selfless, unconditional love that transcends worldly ties and serves regardless of circumstances It's a powerful word, if you ask me. And Jaskier never writes songs without thinking about every single word. Because he knows about the power that lies in words.”

Geralt deflates visibly, he gives up. “When have you gotten so smart, pup?” The princess finally smiles at him again. “Jaskier has been teaching me.”

> **The witchers and the princess return in the evening**

The witchers and the princess return in the evening. Prepared to dry in the sun are three beautiful hides and Ciri immediately points at one and declares it hers. Vesemir gives Geralt a sharp look and ushers the others to help unloading the horses' wagon.

The white wolf sighs and slowly makes his way towards the tower, where Jaskier's room is close to Ciri's and his own. He can her the soft strumming of the lute from afar, but the bard's words are quiet, mumbling. He's composing a new song. Geralt smiles at the familiarity. He missed it. Gods, he missed Jaskier so much. More than he would ever admit. But wasn't that the point? Geralt knows he finally has to change things. The thought scares him.

When he reaches the door he stops, leans against the wall next to it and listens. The words make sense now and he takes a moment and closes his eyes, tries to brace himself for what is to come. Jaskier is muttering under his breath, searching for the right ones. Ciri had been right, with the amount of time Jaskier spend on his songs, making sure that everything fits, he would never use a word he didn't mean. The melody picks up and the bard's voice reaches his ears from behind the closed door.

> “Goodbye to all my darkness, there's nothing here but light
> 
> Adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night”

A pause. The scratching of a pen on paper. Jaskier always buys those tiny charcoal pens instead of the way less expensive blocks.

> “This here is not make up, it's a porcelain tomb”

A stupid idea, really. Who would even think of making a porcelain tomb? It would break as soon as- metaphors, yes. Sometimes Geralt hates them.

> "And this here is not singing, I'm just screaming in tune because-”

Geralt shudders. He loves it. Loves it when Jaskier's voice falls into the deep octaves, when he is singing from the back of his throat with so much control over his own voice. That is it, isn't it? He loves it when Jaskier shows his capabilities. When he is in control, when there is a possibility that he is stronger, better than Geralt. He also hates it. Hates it so much because it absolutely terrifies him and he's a witcher, he's not supposed to be afraid of anything. He has to protect Ciri! He has to be strong and in control, or else he will break and fail and he will be worthless. Jaskier's voice picks up, gets louder now that he is confident of the next words.

> “Farewell Wanderlust, you've been ever so kind
> 
> You brought me through this darkness, but you left me here behind
> 
> And so long to the person you begged me to be”

A satisfied sound rings through the air and Jaskier snaps his fingers in tune. Geralt takes a deep breath and straightens his back. It's now or never.

Geralt knocks at the door.

“Come in~” Jaskier chimes out.

Geralt comes in.

Jaskier looks at him with those huge cornflower blue eyes. “Geralt?” He sounds surprised, no wonder. Geralt had been absolutely avoiding him. Jaskier is sitting on his bed under the window, papers and journal sprawled out on the sheets. His lute is lying in his lap, his legs crossed in front of him.

He had seen Jaskier sit like this a hundred times before. And yet this is different. He falls on his knees in front of the bed, head bowed down, hands behind his back. He hears the other man scramble up. “Geralt?,” he sounds alarmed this time, “Geralt, what's wrong, did something hap-”

“I can't do this anymore,” he interrupts him. Jaskier's breath hitches in panic and Geralt can smell the sour scent of anxiety creeping up. “What- what do you mean?” Jaskier sounds small.

“This. Us. I can't go on like this. This is not how it is supposed to be, how we are supposed to be.” He pauses, his own fear tight in his chest. “I give up,” he says, still not looking at the human.

“Geralt?”

“I surrender, I give up, submit, I can't do this anymore. I want to change, I want things to be like they have been. I want to see you smile again, I don't want to argue with you anymore. But I am so fucking terrified.” He is shaking. His control is leaving him, he can't stop himself and he doesn't dare to look up. “I don't know what to do,” he admits, “So I give up. You have to take over, you have to fix things, Julian, please. I don't know what to do.”

Julian feels like he is about to cry. Geralt never, never ever calls him anything different than Jaskier. Because Geralt knows about his quirk with names and their meaning. And Geralt – sweet Melitele – Geralt is breaking apart, he realizes with horror. The witcher is shivering, he is afraid. Julian has never seen Geralt so out of his mind.

“Geralt,” he makes sure his voice is soft, “look at me Geralt, please.” The room stands still for a long moment. No sound, no movement, then Geralt lifts his head, looks at Julian. Gold meets blue yet again, but this time Julian is aware of the importance. “Thank you, my dear,” he whispers and smiles. Something shimmers behind Geralt's eyes.

Julian takes in a careful breath. He has only one chance, he knows. He has to do this right. “Geralt, dearest. What do you want me to do?” The witcher looks lost, averts his eyes but quickly brings them back to meet Jaskier's again. He shrugs.

“Is it okay, if I ask some question? Can you answer me honestly with yes or no?”

Geralt shrugs again, then lowers his head and nods. Submits yet again. “Thank you, dear.” Geralt's head sings lower and Julian frowns, “Is it okay for me to call you that?” The witcher gives a tiny nod and relief washes through the bard.

“Are you- you said you are surrendering. You want me to take over.” Another nod. “You... you want me to decide what happens. Because you don't feel like you can make the right decision?” Geralt doesn't move and Julian can feel his heart grow heavy. Did he read the situation wrong? Had he already messed up?

“It's more than that,” Geralt quietly answers. “I need you, Julian. All of you, please. I need you to- to fix this, fix me.” There it was. Julian takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He found it, he found Geralt's very core. He slides down closer to the edge of the bed and lets his feet touch the floor, so that Geralt is kneeling between his legs. Geralt is watching him, still shaking, still afraid. Afraid of what? That he isn't good enough? That Jaskier doesn't love him anymore? That- that Julian would use it against him?

He tries to blink away the tears in his eyes but they keep coming. Carefully, he cradles the witcher's face in his hands. “I see nothing that needs fixing. You are not broken, Geralt.” Fuck it, he thinks as the tears stream down his face. “But- But I messed up, Julian. I made so- so many mistakes.” Julian slowly leaned his forehead against Geralt's. “So did I,” he whispered. “I'm sorry, my love.”

Geralt buries his head in Julian's shoulder and cries silently. There are no tears, no sobs, because the man in his embrace is a witcher and as such unable to cry. But he still does. Julian holds him, cradles him against his chest and lets him cry, while salty hot tears run down his own face.

When Julian feels like he himself has no more tears left, he slowly pulls Geralt up and makes him sit down on Jaskier's bed. The witcher watches with tired golden eyes as Julian hurries around the room, to put away his lute and journal and the loose papers.

Then he is the one to kneel in front of Geralt as he slowly frees the man out of his boots and helps him out of his dirty work clothes. Geralt blinks at Julian in confusion, when the man pulls out one of Geralt's wide shirts he usually uses for sleeping. He gives him a shy smile and Geralt understands why he couldn't find said shirt in his own closet anymore.

Julian climbs into bed next to Geralt and pulls up the covers. “Come one, sweet thing.”

A bit reluctant but still willing to submit to the man, Geralt follows Julian to lie on the bed. Blue eyes meet gold and they both smile exhausted. They fall into each other and cuddle up impossibly close.

Later, it really must have been hours, there is a soft knock on the door and Eskel peaks his head in. A silent question in his eyes, that Jaskier answers with a nod and quickly both Eskel and Lambert join them in bed. Thankfully all beds in Kaer Morhen were build big enough for pack cuddles. Lambert wraps himself around Jaskier's back and Eskel does the same with Geralt, surrounding them.

“Hey, sweet thing. How do you feel, three words or less?” Jaskier softly smiles at the tired witcher in his arms. Geralt looks up to him, looks at Lambert's hands around Jaskier's middle and feels Eskel pressed close to him from behind. “I love you,” he whispers and hides his face in Jaskier's chest. Lambert chuckles.

* * *

* * *

Song:

Farewell Wanderlust - The Amazing Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooof the boys finally get their shit together, or at least a bit, I said slow burn, didn't I? This is just the end of the beginning!

**Author's Note:**

> find me on my tumblr [artistsfuneral](https://artistsfuneral.tumblr.com/)


End file.
